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' THE VICAR OF THE 
MARCHES 


BY 

CLINTON SCOLLARD 




Author of “ The Cloistering of Ursula,” 
“Voices and Visions,” “Hills of 
Song,” “The Lyric Bough,” etc. 



BOSTON 

SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 

1911 








Copyright, 19 10 
Sherman, French & Company 


©CLA278157 L 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Enter the Vicar . . . . 1 

II. The Vicar and His Sire ... 9 

III. The Fugitives . . . . .21 

IV. A Wanderer Returns . . .31 

V. What the Wanderer Found . . 41 

VI. In the Palace op Ezzelino . . 50 

•VII. The Emissary of the Old Man of the 

Mountains ..... 59 

VIII. A Friar of Orders Gray . . 68 

IX. Enter Beauty in Distress . . 79 

X. An Old Campaigner ... 89 

XI. Two Brothers of Monselice . . 98 

XII. In the Garden of Villa Deslemaini . 107 

XIII. Out of Padua . . . . .118 

XIV. Into the Night and Storm . . 126 

XV. The Gray Riders of Este . .136 

XVI. At Castel Arlio . . . .146 

XVII. The Plot of Osimo the Dwarf . 154 

XVIII. On the Castle Terrace . . . 164 

XIX. The Affair of Ponte Lungo . . 172 

XX. What Happened at Ferrara . . 183 

XXI. The Fall of Ansedisio . . . 196 

XXII. The Fate of Osimo the Dwarf . 205 

XXIII. The Prisons Gape . . .. .216 

XXIV. Exit the Vicar .... 224 



CHAPTER I. 

ENTER THE VICAR 

I, Tiso di Camposanpiero, am to tell you many 
things, but chiefly am I to set forth how Ezzelino 
da Romano, well christened by some “ Ezzelino 
the Devil,” came to his undoing. The forbears 
of this spawn of wickedness sprang from the 
ragged German wastes, fought and fattened under 
Conrad the Salic, and suddenly grew to puffed 
importance through the lands which they held, 
by imperial favor, in the Trevisan Mark. It was 
in the days of the first Ezzelino, he who was nick- 
named “ the stammerer,” that the feud between 
our family and the Romanesi had its beginning. 
Treacherous and brutal it was in its inception, 
and while spasmodic in its continuance, there was 
little likelihood of its ultimate abatement since 
both parties considered themselves the injured, al- 
though it was upon the Camposanpieresi that the 
original affront had been put. 

In the autumn of that year, however, which first 
stands out boldly in my recollection there was, for 
the time being, a smiling show of peace between 
the two houses. On a certain late September after- 
noon my father, with a large number of attend- 
ants, among them being representatives of our 
name from Cittadella and Castelfranco, had ridden 
away to Padua from our castle of Fonte, having 
been bidden to a marriage festival at the palace 

1 


2 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 

of the Caponegri ; “ Ezzelino the monk,” the head 
of the Romanesi, was in monastic seclusion, while 
his son whose notorious fame was later to become 
a terror in the ears of Christendom was supposedly 
engrossed in smoothing out various differences be- 
tween the nobles and burghers of Verona, of which 
city just then he was the Podesta. 

For days a wonderful dancing, shimmering 
amber haze had glorified the earth. I can recall 
that even to the eyes of a seven-year-old lad like 
myself, there was something magical in it. The 
stubble of long-garnered fields of grain, the far- 
stretching aisles of mulberry orchards, the inde- 
finite reaches of vineyard, the rows of spire-like 
poplar trees notching the distant horizon, each 
and all gained through the aerial alchemy a new 
and dreamy beauty. I had tired of the gambols 
of my hound, and of playing at buffet-ball with 
one of my mother’s maids, and had climbed alone 
to what was my favorite post of observation, the 
northeasterly watch tower of the wall which 
girdled the paved enclosure in the center of which 
our country home, the castle of Fonte, was set. 

Here I was wont to watch the laborers moving 
to and fro in the fields, and likewise to observe 
the comers and goers upon the two main thorough- 
fares which joined the castle to the great outer 
world. There were stone seats running about the 
edge of the square room within the tower where- 
on my father had ordered cushions to be placed, 
knowing my fondness for the spot. Indeed it was 


ENTER THE VICAR 


regarded in periods of tranquility not only by 
the family, but also by all the castle attendants, 
as a kind of outer play-room over which I was 
the sole autocrat. Here I stored my collection of 
bows and arrows, my slings, my two small lances 
which Pompeo the armorer had fashioned for me, 
and likewise the tough jacket of ox-hide studded 
with nails of brass which was the most precious 
of my various warlike possessions. 

Having gained my beloved haunt, instead of 
making a fresh disposition of my belongings, as 
was usually my custom each time I visited the 
tower, I became absorbed in the efforts of a kite 
to capture some agile bird of the sparrow species, 
a fierce game of retreat and pursuit which was 
taking place in that saffron space of sky com- 
manded by the large easterly-looking window. The 
contest was a protracted one, and I was still 
engaged in following it when drowsiness overtook 
me. The cushions offered a tempting resting 
haven, and with a little childish sigh of content- 
ment, I sank back among them. 

When I lost myself in sleep there was scarcely 
a noise to break the afternoon placidity. The 
men-at-arms who had not accompanied my father 
upon his ride to Padua were lounging upon 
benches on the shady side of the castle enclosure, 
their armor and weapons laid aside; most of the 
menials of both sexes were afar in the fields; my 
mother, my two elder brothers and my sister were 
in my father’s train; while Benedetto, the crippled 


4 


THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


servitor who frequently had me in charge during 
the absence of the family, had betaken himself to 
some abandoned task within the castle when I had 
announced my intention of seeking my tower play- 
room. 

What a contrast presented itself upon my 
awakening! Below, from the great paved court- 
yard, the clash of weapons and the sound of mad 
contention rose with frightful insistency. From 
my cozy nest amid the cushions I bounded as 
though ejected by an arbalest. In three leaps 
I crossed the tower room, and peered from one 
of the oblong apertures opening upon the court. 
Little could I distinguish but a confused welter 
of men who shouted and swung their swords. Step 
by step, as I continued to gaze upon them, fasci- 
nated by the sanguine scene, I saw that those who 
wore the garb of our service were being forced 
back toward the inner castle entrance. This, I 
well remember, kindled my boyish wrath, and I 
began crying shame upon them, but my weak 
treble carried no further in that medley of blows 
and oaths than the empty pipings of a bird. 

At the entrance to the inner court the struggle 
grew fiercer, and the better to mark the outcome, 
for a sense of fear or of curiosity in regard to 
the cause of the contest had not yet gripped me, 
I emerged from my play-room by the slit of a 
door leading to the narrow path along the outer 
wall. I had been forbidden to venture upon this 
path because it was but illy protected, and a drop 


ENTER THE VICAR 


5 


of fifteen feet or more sheer upon the stones of 
the court would have meant the shattering of my 
tender bones. In the stress of the moment, how- 
ever, all regard for this prohibition left me, and 
forth I stood in full view of the combatants, re- 
iterating my feeble exhortations. 

I now for the first time noted a score of horses, 
just within the outer gate, in charge of four 
burly troopers. One of these men was keen of 
eye, and speedily espied me. He pointed me out 
with vehement gesticulation to his nearest com- 
panion to whom he relinquished the bridles which 
he was holding. Then he sprang with great 
strides toward the frantic press in the inner gate. 
For several moments his presence upon the edge 
of the melee, shriek and wave his arms as he might, 
created no diversion, but at length the spare figure 
of a man disengaged itself from the writhing mass 
which was the occasion for another agitated move 
on the part of the trooper. What should he do 
but wheel about and point with the long fore- 
finger of his steel gauntlet to me still astare upon 
the wall, though this development had silenced 
my impatient outcries. 

Astonishment for an instant held the lean 
swordsman, as it did me, transfixed. Then as both 
trooper and swordsman gave an exultant shout and 
made swiftly toward me and the tower, a dim 
notion crept into my childish brain that I was in 
some way connected with all the red pother. 

“Tiso ! Tiso mio !” 


6 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 

My name, called in a voice shrill with appre- 
hension hard by, startled me completely from my 
daze. My glance shifted from the twain who were 
crossing the courtyard hot-foot to the direction 
whence the voice proceeded. There, a few paces 
distant, approaching me pantingly with a speed 
that seemed incredible for him, was my quasi-pro- 
tector, Benedetto. He held out his hand implor- 
ingly to me as he advanced. 

44 Come ! oh, come !” he entreated. 

I now caught some of the fear written plain 
upon his face, and hastened to meet him. 

44 Who are they ? What does it mean ?” I 
demanded, as he clutched my slender fingers and 
half dragged me after him along the precarious 
pathway about five feet below the crest of the 
battlements. 

44 4 Tis Ezzelino da Romano and his men !” 
Benedetto replied, 44 and methinks they seek you. 
The villian has broken his pledged word.” 

The name was enough to affright a heart far 
stouter than mine, although Ezzelino was then 
known but as an ambitious and enterprising leader. 
In our family, however, even to so young a member 
of it as myself, the cognomen stood for every- 
thing perfidious and unknightly. 

44 Where — where are you taking me?” I man- 
aged to gasp. 

44 Do you not remember that there is a passage 
to the castle from the watch tower just ahead? 
If we can gain that, and bar the door, perhaps 


ENTER THE VICAR 7 

these ruffians can be beaten off till assistance is 
summoned from the fields.” 

I recalled the passage which Benedetto men- 
tioned, and my ebbing courage began to flood 
back. Then that happened which I am never likely 
to forget for it was my first glimpse of naked 
tragedy. There was a sudden singing sound in 
the air above me; Benedetto gave a choking sob, 
released my hand spasmodically, spun round, and 
plunged headlong down upon the bare flags of 
the court. A bolt from a cross-bow, sped by I 
never learned what hand, had smitten him at the 
base of the brain, and quenched his faithful life. 
Uncomprehending, I halted and gazed with horri- 
fied wonder upon him where he lay in a crumpled 
heap beneath me. 

“ Benedetto ! Benedetto !” I began to cry. 

Then seeing that he did not move, a swift com- 
prehension seized me that some ill had befallen 
him, and I could no longer look to him for aid. 
The sharp ring of feet upon the courtyard stones 
spurred me to action. Below, trooper and swords- 
man were drawing near, and I commenced an 
unequal race with them for the tower. Like a 
hunted rabbit I scurried into it, and down the 
winding stairs, hoping to gain the passage be- 
neath where I fancied I might possibly conceal 
myself in some obscure nook. But in the dim- 
ness at the foot of the stairway I stumbled into 
the arms of the stout trooper who caught me 
by my doublet collar and bore me struggling and 


8 


THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


screaming out into the sunlight. As he held me at 
arm’s length, laughing in gruff triumph, with an 
exultant — “ I’ve got the brat ! ” — I managed to 
twist my head about and set my sharp teeth deep in 
his wrist. He flung me from him with a great 
roar and curse, and had not the swordsman stepped 
between me where I lay upon the stones and this 
massive hulk of a man, I do not doubt but that 
the latter’s mailed heel would have made a speedy 
end of me there and then. 

The face of my captor and preserver into which 
I looked up when I recovered my senses, dazed 
by the fall, although I knew it not at the time, 
was that of Ezzelino da Romano ! 


CHAPTER II 

THE VICAR AND HIS SIRE 


It was strangely emotionless, the countenance 
into which I gazed, and though I afterward be- 
held it not infrequently it appeared to change but 
little as the years passed save for a deepening 
of the lines about the mouth and eyes. It was 
a mask, enigmatic, baffling analysis, and if long 
regarded likely to produce in the one study- 
ing it a shuddering sensation of disquietude. 
Smiles rarely hovered about the lips, and when 
detected they seemed to be a ghastly travesty of 
mirth. Dark and dull was the evenly cut hair 
that framed the features. The face might have 
been pronounced colorless had it not been for the 
glow in the eyes which were like rubies, lambent 
in every light. Of medium height, lean as a gray- 
hound and as muscular, swift of movement as some 
forest creature, Ezzelino da Romano always gave 
the impression of unbounded physical endurance, 
as he did of mental penetration and subtlety. 

“ Enough !” he said, turning to the trooper, 
after gripping my arm and pulling me to my 
feet. “ You caught him, and he’s yours to care 
for, but you may not dull his teeth, even though 
they be sharp.” 

“ You understand,” he added significantly, hold- 
ing the man beneath his compelling gaze. 

The trooper shifted his eyes, changed his posi- 

9 


10 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


tion in dumb embarrassment, and then assented. 
With a swift push I was given over into his 
charge, while Ezzelino’s voice rang out in sharp 
command. Twice, thrice he called, and the clangor 
of blows still resounding from the inner court 
ceased. In compact order the attacking troopers 
issued into the outer enclosure, our men-at-arms 
not offering to follow them. In the center of the 
retreating body I speedily found myself, half 
dragged and half carried. Then I was uncere- 
moniously tossed across a saddle pommel, and a 
moment afterward, in front of the rough trooper 
into whose charge I had been given was borne out 
from our castle of Fonte along the dust-deep 
highway northward into what was to me an un- 
known land. 

The fields flashed by in the golden light. Or- 
chards, vineyards, squalid and cluttered villages, 
isolated towers, these swam across the vision, and 
faded in a blur of haze and dust. A warm reek 
of steam began rising from the horses, but they 
were still spurred pitilessly forward. 

Once, when we had been some time upon the 
road, I saw the trooper before whom I sat moisten 
with his lips the spot upon his wrist where my 
teeth had inflicted a wound, and a sob which I 
could not choke back rose in my throat, while 
tears welled from my eyes. I had been much 
ashamed of this action of mine, and I now blurted 
out, — 

“ Oh, Pm sorry I did it!” 


THE VICAR AND HIS SIRE 


11 


“ You may indeed have cause to be sorry,” he 
returned, but it did not appear from his look that 
he had reference to my childish fit of rage and 
desperation, nor do I imagine that this was in his 
thoughts. 

Toward evening we were joined by a second 
company of armed horsemen, and paused a little 
space to bait and water the steeds, then on we 
swept again through an atmosphere glorified by 
the splendors of the setting sun. After my re- 
pentant outburst I was treated with considerate 
kindness by the trooper whose saddle I shared. He 
was a Suabian, as were most of those in Ezzelino’s 
force, and was commonly called Great Arm by his 
comrades on account of the size of his muscles 
which were certainly developed in the most marvel- 
ous fashion. He divided with me the meagre store 
of food stowed away in his saddle-bags, and when 
I grew drowsy as night closed in upon us let me 
lean against him, protecting me with his arm, so 
that during the last few miles of our journey I 
was occupied with dreams and not with rude 
realities. 

Then came a halt that jarred me awake, and 
indistinctly through the darkness I detected the 
outline of a wall and the massive tower of a gate- 
way. There were several abrupt orders, a flash 
of lights through portals laboriously backward 
thrown, and we passed two by two into the city 
of Bassano where the huge castle of Ezzelino 
dominated from its crown of rock. The streets 


12 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 

were still alive with folk who shrank back, regard- 
ing us dumbly as we ascended toward the fortress. 
Here, there was a warmer welcome, a ruddy flare 
of torches, much hurrying to and fro of servants, 
and a loud uproar of tongues. As I stood by the 
side of Great Arm in the courtyard several richly- 
garbed people, both men and women, came and 
regarded me curiously. Then I was led away by 
the trooper along passages that seemed endless, 
and up stairs that wound far higher into the air 
than any at Fonte, to a square room where there 
were two cots, one huge and one small. 

“These are our quarters, Poverino,” announced 
Great Arm. “ Shall you be afraid to sleep here 
with me?” 

His glance and smile were both re-assuring. In- 
deed his face inspired me with a far different feel- 
ing from that which filled me at the sight of 
Ezzelino, who had come to stare at me intently 
for an instant before I had been conducted from 
the court. 

“ No,” I answered, “ but when am I to be al- 
lowed to go home?” 

Great Arm shook his head. 

“Listen !” said he, lowering his voice, and speak- 
ing in a measured and impressive tone. “If you 
are very quiet, say nothing unless addressed except 
in my presence, and keep out of sight as much 
as may be, perhaps it will not be very long.” 

It turned out to be just ten days. What might 
have chanced had not the trooper taken an un- 


THE VICAR AND HIS SIRE 


13 


accountable liking for me, and continually maneu- 
vered to keep me in the background, can only be 
surmised. Ezzelino had few schemes fermenting 
in his brain just then, and his wanton seizure of 
me at a time when there was sworn amity be- 
tween himself and my father, may have been no 
more than the spasmodic outbreak of a nature 
that demanded some constant and intense diver- 
sion. On the other hand it may have been the 
leading stroke in some subtly conceived plan. 

On the day following the irruption upon Fonte, 
however, news was brought in of the revolt of 
the Trevisans from the rule of the Romanesi, then 
Messer Sordello arrived with Cunizza, Ezzelino’s 
sister, stolen away (and very willingly, it would 
appear) from her husband, the Count of San Boni- 
facio, at her brother’s instigation. These two 
occurrences, together with Great Arm’s cleverness, 
may have saved my life. 

But thrice during my ten days’ tarry in the 
castle of Bassano did I encounter Ezzelino, and 
each time it was when I had gone down for exercise 
in the castle court. The Lord of Romano re- 
garded me fixedly in each instance, and then passed 
on, Great Arm in the meanwhile standing by as 
stolid as one of the pillars of the courtyard arcade. 
The trooper was my constant companion. Not 
for a single moment by day or night was he absent 
from my side. He had been made my cicerone, 
and for his own sake as well as mine he was ful- 
filling his orders to the letter. 


14 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 

Somehow the hours of my detention did not 
drag, for Great Arm was a famous story teller, 
and devised many curious sports for my amuse- 
ment. One of these was a mimic battle between 
some toy soldiers which he very cunningly shaped 
from strips of red and white wood, which he con- 
trived to smuggle up to our room. The oppos- 
ing forces in these encounters belonged to the 
Romanesi and the Camposanpieresi, and Great 
Arm frequently allowed the latter to come off 
victorious, vastly to my satisfaction. Indeed so 
wholly taken up did I become with my trooper 
that I invited him to accompany me when I was 
allowed to return home, assuring him that at 
Fonte he should have all the pleasures and none 
of the disagreeable duties of the dead Benedetto. 

It was perhaps a trifle beyond mid-afternoon 
on the tenth day of my stay in the hold of Ezzelino 
that Great Arm proposed we descend to the court- 
yard from our eyrie in the upper portion of one 
of the castle towers. I was glad enough of the 
suggested change, and capered ahead of my 
guardian until I had to be restrained by a word 
of caution. We had reached the lower floor and 
were proceeding toward the court along a lofty 
corridor when the sound of a lute was borne to 
our ears from without, and the voice of one sing- 
ing a madrigal. Great Arm grunted and grinned 
in sneering disapproval at my questioning look. 

“ ’Tis Messer Sordello,” said he, “ strumming 
lady-bird airs to my Lord’s sister, the Donna 
Cunizza !” 


THE VICAR AND HIS SIRE 


15 


Directly before us, as we emerged into the 
open, stood the minstrel cavalier. He was lean- 
ing against one of the arcade pillars, and was 
gazing upward, the while he fingered his instru- 
ment and sang at the smiling, fair-faced woman 
who was bending from the balcony above pelt- 
ing him with roses. Neither desisted upon our 
appearance, and when the song and the flower 
throwing were over the two made merry with a 
give and take of amorous banter. But there was 
that to follow which dwarfed this scene into in- 
significance. In the very midst of a honeyed inter- 
change of compliments the wooer and the woman 
ceased suddenly. From within came the sound 
of a man’s hurried footfalls, from without the 
clang of iron hoofs upon the stones, and as 
Ezzelino entered, set of face and tense of limb, 
an extraordinary figure upon a lathered horse ap- 
peared in the gateway. As the two moved for- 
ward to meet each other Great Arm gave an excla- 
mation of amazement. 

“ Who is it?” said I, tugging at his doublet. 

“ Hush !” returned he, “ ’tis my Lord’s father, 
Ezzelino Monico.” 

A grim man and swart was Ezzelino the Monk 
as he sat his horse there in the center of the 
courtyard of the castle of Bassano, never offer- 
ing to dismount. Sweat streamed down his fur- 
rowed face, and glistened upon his hairy hands. 
Protruding from his monk’s brown robe glistened 
the mail boots of a warrior, while beneath his rope 
girdle showed the scabbard of a sword. 


16 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 

Father and son were silent for a space, eye hold- 
ing eye. 

“ For what am I thus honored?” Ezzelino the 
younger at length inquired. “ Something unto- 
ward must have happened to move my father from 
his meditations.” 

“ Aye, truly !” returned the elder man, glanc- 
ing about the courtyard whence Sordello and 
Donna Cunizza had contrived to disappear. 

“ I see the reason before me,” he added, letting 
his gaze rest upon me. 

“ Why should so trifling a thing stir you so 
far?” 

“ Trifling indeed ! And what, think you, has 
your deed of ten days’ since brought about? What 
is already on foot while you sit here inert, plan- 
ning I know not what further foolhardiness?” 

“ I suppose it is the Trevisan revolt that you 
are making this heated to-do over!” 

“ That were bad enough, surely, but top 
Treviso with Padua, and you have a combination 
that even the brilliant young Lord of Romano 
can hardly hope to cope with.” 

“ Padua!” 

“Aye, Padua! This very day the Podesta of- 
fered Guglielmo di Camposanpiero the services of 
two thousand men, and they will march on the 
morrow. Five hundred Trevisans will join them, 
and if they pass beyond the Brenta there will 
be trouble within the walls of Bassano.” 

“ You seem to have in mind some means of 


THE VICAR AND HIS SIRE 


17 


preventing the passage of the Brenta. You must 
know that there are now but two hundred spears- 
men here available.” 

“ One man and a child can prevent the cross- 
ing of that army, — you and the boy yonder.” 

“ Ah, give up the cub of the Camposanpieresi !” 

Ezzelino the younger who had hitherto faced 
his father unmoved, returning him look for look, 
and quick word for word, now wheeled and took 
a swift turn up and down. It was a bitter thing 
to be forced to surrender his prey, whatever his 
original intention had been. 

“ Hearken !” cried Ezzelino Monico, breaking 
in upon his son’s musings. “ I have ever thought 
and said you would go far if you did not over- 
leap yourself at the outset. It was my dream once 
to rule in Padua. That dream you may realize 
if you will but wait, but you must have patience. 
You have taken a false step. Make what amends 
you can, and then, later, when the power is in 
your hands, you can stamp these Camposanpieresi 
from the face of the earth. We have wrought 
often at cross purposes, you and I, but the very 
fact that this critical juncture in your affairs has 
drawn me from my seclusion at Monte Venda 
should be proof conclusive to you that my anxiety 
is real, and my desire for your ultimate success 
is not feigned.” 

During the latter part of this gruff and direct 
speech the younger man stood with contracted 
brows, and eyes fixed upon the paven court. 


18 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 

“ You are right, my father,” he said at length, 
once more facing Ezzelino Monico, “ 1 have not 
yet learned to wait. The boy shall go back, and 
I will not allow myself to break loose again — not 
until I am sure — and then — ” 

I could see every muscle in the man’s body 
grow rigid, his hands clenched, and his glance 
swept beyond his father as though he were con- 
templating what he intended to wrest from the 
future. 

“After all,” said the old man upon the steed, 
reining his animal about, and giving his mouth 
a whimsical twist, “ you are a son to be proud 
of!” 

“ You will tarry?” inquired Ezzelino the 
younger. 

“And perhaps grow sorry that I ever relin- 
quished my power here? nay!” and he shook his 
head. 

Then he drew aside his monk’s robe, showing 
more plainly the armor underneath. 

“ I did not know this morning but that I might 
turn warrior again, but I am glad to find that 
I am to be saved that necessity. Peace — ” he 
paused as though pondering if that were the word 
he should use — “ yes, peace be with you !” 

“ You mean for the present,” replied his son 
ironically. 

There was no answer to this observation, but 
the sudden gleam that lit the eyes of Ezzelino 
Monico told that his son’s irony was appreciated. 


THE VICAR AND HIS SIRE 


19 


In another moment he was gone, and the younger 
man, in no wise showing if he had been conscious 
of our presence, turned and disappeared within 
the castle corridors. 

We were on horseback before the dawn of the 
next day, I mounted in front of Great Arm as I 
had come. Two hundred soberly garbed spears- 
men were our escort, and the standard of Ezzelino 
was set on the north bank of the Brenta at the 
crossing of the Padua road before the outriders 
of the combined forces of Padua and Treviso had 
reached the river. 

Marking the presence of Ezzelino’s camp, no 
attempt at crossing was made until the Podesta 
of Padua and my father had arrived. On their ap- 
proach the Lord of Romano rode to the river 
verge, signalling that he would have speech with 
them. They replied, inviting him to cross. 
Demanding from Great Arm that I be brought, 
he placed me upon his pommel and spurred into 
the stream which was, at this period, shallow from 
long drouth. 

He was halted as he scrambled up the shingle 
beneath the opposite bank. The parley that 
ensued was of the briefest. I was given over into 
my father’s arms. Ezzelino swore an oath of 
amity toward Padua and all its friends which 
amounted to no more than so much morning sea- 
vapor. Then abruptly reining his horse about, 
he re-forded the stream, and rode briskly away in- 
to the north without deigning to cast one back- 


W THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


ward glance upon all the imposing array drawn 
up to overawe him. But his eyes had been busy, 
and, in the after time, many a one in Padua and 
Treviso regretted his presence at that scene of 
humiliation, for the memory of the Lord of 
Romano was long. 

Much of the foregoing is written out of my 
own acute childish recollection, the rest has been 
supplied by Berthold, the Suabian (still sometimes 
called Great Arm) who not many weeks after my 
return to the castle of Fonte quitted the service 
of Ezzelino and entered that of my father, and 
who to-day may still be found lording it over the 
men-at-arms of the Camposanpieresi. 


CHAPTER III 
THE FUGITIVES 

Between that hour of enforced renunciation on 
the banks of the Brenta and the time when I next 
came into direct contact with Ezzelino da Romano 
there was a lapsing of well nigh a score of years. 
During most of this period the ancient feud be- 
tween the Romanesi and Camposanpieresi was 
quiescent. The Lord of Romano had made him- 
self all-powerful in Padua and, indeed, in many 
another opulent town, for as Vicar of the Emperor 
in northern Italy he had been granted practically 
a free hand in such municipalities as favored the 
Ghibelline rule. I had grown to manhood, studied 
under the learned doctors of the university of 
Padua, escaped being forced into the church by 
my family only through my bitter obstinacy and 
the fact that I possessed a soldierly figure and 
a leaning toward martial accomplishments, and 
then, drifting eastward to gratify the itch of curi- 
osity and a wandering spirit, had taken service 
among the Greeks whose empire was rent by rival 
native and Latin claimants, and among whom one 
wearing a ready blade was never long likely to 
lack employment. 

It was during the summer of the third year 
after my departure from Padua, early in the very 
month when I quitted Constantinople to attach 
myself to the body-guard of the King of Nicea, 

21 


22 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 

that news of the death of my two elder brothers 
reached me. So much my senior were both 
Frederico and Rolando that I was bound to them 
by no intimate ties of affection, but the realiza- 
tion of how poignantly their demise would effect 
my parents touched me deeply. It was more the 
desire to be of what comfort I might to my father 
and mother than the thought of my own change 
in state and fortune, that urged me upon my home- 
ward way. Of course I could but feel that my 
position was greatly altered. From being a 
younger son, I had suddenly become, by an in- 
explicable stroke of fate, the sole male heir, in 
the direct line, to the name and possessions of the 
Camposanpieresi. 

Grave responsibilities had, as it were in a night, 
been shifted to my shoulders. How was I to meet 
them? — I, whose training had been a curious com- 
bination of that of student and man-at-arms, not 
at all the rearing of the man of affairs, one who 
is to bear the burden of the management of large 
estates and the shaping of family and civic policy! 
Much I pondered both by sunlight and starlight 
as I journeyed westward as fast as horse and 
vessel could carry me. 

The hot August day was upon the wane, and 
I was yet fully three leagues from the Porta 
Venezia of my native city. My steed had gone 
lame, having caught its hoof in a bog-hole where 
the roadway traversed one of the sloughs border- 
ing the Brenta, and with every halting step of 


THE FUGITIVES 


23 


the animal my hopes of embracing my parents that 
night grew less and less. My only chance lay 
in being able to obtain a new mount at a road- 
side inn, and I realized of this there was small 
likelihood. 

Presently my horse stopped stock-still, holding 
up its injured member in so pitiful a fashion that 
compassion forced me to dismount and lead the 
hobbling creature forward by the bridle. Half 
a mile perhaps I plodded on in this wise when, at 
a bend in the road, I descried in a small clump 
of poplars what appeared to be a tavern. As 
I drew near, buoyed by the possibility of dis- 
covering means of further progress, I was amazed 
to see a press of folk, mounted and on foot, taking 
refreshment before the hostelry door. Men, 
women and children there were, and my surprise 
was increased as I discerned that they were of 
the better class of citizens, and that, a short dis- 
tance in the background, heavily laden sumpter 
mules were tethered guarded by a considerable 
number of servants. 

So wholly occupied with these travelers were 
mine host of the inn and his entire retinue that 
no heed whatever was paid to me, and I was com- 
pelled perforce to attend myself to the needs of 
my crippled steed. This duty accomplished, I 
crossed the flagged stable-yard, and stepped into 
the common-room of the tavern by the rear 
entrance, the door being wide flung. No attention 
was given to my advent by the dozen men there 


U THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


quaffing from deep flagons. They were drink- 
ing in evident haste. Concern was plainly written 
on all their countenances ; their words were few, 
and their voices low pitched. Not a single laugh 
did I hear, not a jibe, not a jest. Then as I 
glanced in wonder from face to face in the fad- 
ing afternoon light, several struck me as familiar, 
and I realized that the gathering was one of Pad- 
uan nobles, two or three of them intimates of my 
father. 

What meant this strange coming together? 
Why the women and children without, and the 
servants and the heavily laden beasts of burden? I 
determined if possible to ascertain. 

Approaching one gentleman with whom I had 
formerly had a casual acquaintance, one who was 
wrapt in meditation slightly apart from the rest, 
I accosted him. 

“ I pray you will pardon me if I seem inquisi- 
tive,” I said, 64 but would you be willing to tell 
a traveler who rides to Padua why so many of 
its first citizens ride from it?” 

He whom I had addressed regarded me with 
startled gaze, drawing back a little at what I 
assumed struck him as presumption on my part. 
There was no gleam of recognition in his eyes. 

“I assure you, Messer Manadusi,” I continued, 
calling him by name, “that I intend no affront. 
Mine, I think, is a very excusable curiosity.” 

I had grown bearded and bronzed beneath many 
suns, and though he scanned my features narrowly 


THE FUGITIVES 


25 


he did not recall me. His agitation increased. 
His color came and went. His glance shifted, and 
I concluded he was meditating summoning one 
of the other Paduan gentlemen to his side. 

“ Who — who are you ?” he stammered. 

“You knew me, a few years since, as Tiso Cam- 
posanpiero,” I answered. 

“Tiso Camposanpiero !” he repeated incredu- 
lously. 

Then, as he continued to regard me fixedly, 
there was a dawning remembrance in his look. 

“ By Bacchus !” he exclaimed, “ but you gave 
me a fright! I thought you were an emissary 
of one whom I will not name. Ho, Bandelli ! 
Moroni ! Cazaconte !” he cried, addressing the 
three standing nearest, “ here is Guglielmo Campo- 
sanpiero’s son!” 

Those hailed, and then all the others, pressed 
about me and shook me by the hand, half deafen- 
ing me with a shower of rapid questions, afford- 
ing me, in the meanwhile, not the slightest clue 
to the meaning of their presence at that obscure 
tavern. 

“ Gentlemen ! ” I shouted finally, in good-natured 
remonstrance, “ I beg that one of you will render 
me a reply to the question that I at the outset 
put to Messer Menadusi. Why ride you from 
Padua? Appearances would indicate,” and I 
waved my hand to the scene outside the inn, “ that 
you are fleeing. If this be true, what danger 
menaces? Has the Black Death come again? I 
heard no rumor of it in Venice.” 


26 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 

44 When were you last in Padua, Messer Campo- 
sanpiero?” interjected one of those to whom I 
had spoken. 

“ It is something more than three years,” I 
returned. 

“ And you have heard but little news during 
that interval?” 

“ Little indeed, save the sad tidings of the death 
of my two brothers.” 

44 Ah, that explains your question ! You are 
not aware, then, of the fate of the Ottolini in 
Verona, of the Pilei in Vincenza, and of the Capo- 
negri and others in Padua?” 

I shook my head. 

More closely around me now had gathered the 
band of Paduan gentlemen, their countenances be- 
traying an apprehension, a dread, a terror which 
I could not fathom. 

In a tense tone, low and guarded, as though 
the very walls might have ears, came the next 
query from my interlocutor. 

44 Said your father naught to you when he last 
wrote in regard to the condition of affairs in 
your native city?” 

“ Naught !” I replied. 44 His missive had to do 
only with the grievous misfortune which had be- 
fallen us.” 

44 Did he relate no particulars ?” 

44 But few!” I cried. 44 My God, to what are 
you leading? What are you holding back? Out 
with it all!” 


THE FUGITIVES 


n 


“ The Emperor’s Vicar, since Frederick’s death, 
has thrown off his mask!” — this with a sudden 
outburst of fury. “ He is a fiend incarnate. It 
is he who is responsible for the blotting out of 
the families I have named in the leading Ghibbe- 
line cities. And your brothers, — they met their 
end together the same day at your country home, 
Fonte. It is whispered that they were mysteriously 
poisoned.” 

I was aghast at the man’s words, and gazed 
in speechless interrogation from one to another 
of those about me only to receive grave nods of 
confirmation. 

“We urged your father and cousins to join 
us in our flight,” said another, “ Ezzelino now 
being absent in Vincenza, but they would not. I 
fear they conspire, and if that be true they are 
doomed as sure as the sun is setting yonder. Satan 
himself is in league with the Vicar, and no earthly 
power can prevail against him. The prisons in 
Padua, in Cittadella, in Monselice, are packed 
to the doors, and Ansedisio, the Podesta, in obedi- 
ence to his demon uncle, has ordered the con- 
struction of two new dungeons.” 

The reason for the curious reserve in my 
father’s letter apprising me of the demise of my 
brothers now grew clear. Long as he might for 
my presence, there were vital considerations why 
he should not urge my return. He could not, on 
the other hand, exhort me still to absent myself 
lest I should be exposed to some fatal danger. 


28 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 

He knew my nature well enough to realize that 
this would be the surest way of spurring me to 
seek Padua in hot haste. 

There was now a movement toward the tavern 
door on the part of the fugitives. I accompanied 
them, walking by the side of Messer Menadusi. 

“We must be getting on,” he said. “We have 
made arrangements to tarry for the night at Dolo, 
and will seek Venice on the morrow. You — ” He 
looked at me quest ioningly. 

“ I shall go forward,” I announced, “ as soon 
as may be. My horse has fallen lame, and I had 
hoped to obtain a change of mounts here.” 

“ You will hardly be able to, I fear, for we were 
short of horses ourselves, and had bespoken every 
spare steed before you arrived.” 

He paused an instant, and then continued. 

“ Is your resolution fixed in this matter of 
seeking Padua? Why not join us and return to 
Venice? You could communicate with your family 
from there. Are you quite certain your father 
would approve of your thrusting your head into 
the very jaws of peril? I assure you that the 
picture which has been presented to you of the 
conditions through the whole of the Mark has 
not been overdrawn!” 

“ If my father does not hesitate to remain in 
Padua, why should I turn back?” I demanded. 

“ Your father is foolhardy, and I endeavored 
to convince him of the fact. In view of the ancient 
feud between the Romanesi and your family it is 


THE FUGITIVES 


29 


a marvel that there is one of your name above 
the earth to-day. I pledge you, Messer Campo- 
sanpiero, that it is my belief that yonder devil 
in the flesh is but waiting the hour when he can 
enmesh you all, and then — ” He closed with an 
expressive gesture. 

44 Nevertheless I must go on,” I said. 

44 I understand,” he assented, after a moment’s 
meditation, 44 and I will not further argue against 
it. Do not, however, brand us as cowards, we who 
are departing. That we are not, save perhaps in 
so far as one man is concerned, and each of us has 
in some way been warned.” 

“Far be it from me to sit in judgment on any 
one !” I replied. 

44 1 think you will one day appreciate our posi- 
tion,” and he hastened into the outer air whither 
his companions had preceded him. 

From the inn doorway I watched the cavalcade 
form and pass, the men serious, the women anxious, 
the children silent, the servants eager to be gone. 
Once they were under way, hurry swooped upon 
them all. Even the beasts of burden were urged 
into a canter, and soon a flurry of dust was the 
only evidence of the late presence of that panic- 
gripped company. Away to the right, beneath 
the low-growing boughs of the poplars, a streak 
of sunset splashed the sky with vivid color. There 
was a dolorous sighing among the leaves. I fancied 
that I could hear the drowsy Brenta lipping sadly 
against the reeds that lined its banks. A bat 


30 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


dipped across the growing dusk and, with a 
shudder, and an increasing depression of spirit, 
I turned within, where, sinking upon a bench in 
one corner of the empty room, I fell to consider- 
ing the parlous situation with which I was con- 
fronted. 


CHAPTER IV 

A WANDERER RETURNS 

I shall be compelled to confess that during 
my absence in the East I had given little thought 
to the trend of affairs in my native city. Truth 
to tell, save in so far as they affected the family, 
public matters had had small interest for me. I 
had my own fortune to hew out. This I was 
plainly made to understand when I somewhat 
heatedly refused to enter the church wherein my 
chances for preferment would not have been in- 
considerable. Pride rode with me on my departure. 
Return I would not, I told myself, until I could 
come as a personage of acknowledged station. I 
cherished no feeling of bitterness because all my 
relations had ambitions to see me a prelate, and 
never let an opportunity pass to hint at my 
obstinacy and the error of my ways. 

I was sufficiently broad-minded to recognize 
their point of view. Indeed, I was free to grant 
that it would be eminently proper and desirable 
for the house of Camposanpiero to be represented 
among the bishops or cardinals, but that I was the 
one best fitted to shine among those dignitaries 
I was wholly unwilling to allow. 

Of Ezzelino’s power throughout the Mark I was 
well aware, but up to the time of my forth-faring 
he had exercised it, in the main, judiciously in 
Padua, although elsewhere it was well understood 

31 


32 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


that his rule was rapacious and sanguine. Of his 
change of policy in Padua I had had no hint in 
any communication which had reached me from 
home. In so far as I knew the truce between the 
Romanesi and my family had been unbroken. When 
the news of the death of the Emperor Frederick 
was noised about, it occurred to me to wonder if 
Ezzelino would thereby be the gainer or the loser, 
but beyond this conjecture did not carry me. So 
long as he did not play the meddlar with the im- 
mediate concerns of the Camposanpieresi I fear 
I was indifferent enough not to care what course 
he followed. 

But it appeared that the Vicar’s attitude had 
altered. If I had heard aright the man had grown 
to be an insatiable monster. Could it be true that 
my brothers had met their end through his fell 
agency? How long would it be, were such the 
case, before another terrible blow might fall? 
Assuredly, if my father conspired, as had been 
hinted, and were touched by so much as a breath 
of suspicion, he would at once be beyond the 
pale of hope. 

Light-hearted as I was by nature, I was con- 
fronted by a dark dilemma upon which no buoy- 
ancy of spirit could throw a ray of sun. Indeed, 
it was borne in upon me, as I continued to brood 
in the now thick dusk of the common-room, that 
my sudden and unexpected advent might prove 
both a source of embarrassment and anxiety to 
my father and of peril to myself. There and 


A WANDERER RETURNS 


33 

then I decided that I would act the cautious part. 
I would not openly, by light of day, seek my home 
in the Via San Michele, but would pay my first 
visit to my parents under the cover of night. 
Having counseled with them I could decide upon 
my future course. I was not a little altered in 
outward appearance, and as Messer Menadusi had 
not recognized me I was flattered into the belief 
that by pursuing the path of the wary I could 
veil my identity until such a time as a revelation 
might seem desirable. 

At this juncture the landlord bustled in with 
a pair of tapers, apologized to me profusely for 
his lack of attention, and begged to be informed 
in what way he could serve me. 

“ By setting before me the best you have in 
your larder,” said I, “ and then by providing me 
with a bed for the night.” 

“ There is a fine flitch of bacon hot,” exclaimed 
he, “ and those voracious travelers were considerate 
enough to leave a toothsome pasty.” 

“ Excellent,” I cried, realizing that an empty 
stomach is a poor spur for the wits. “ Spread 
what you have before me!” 

“ Messere shall be served at once.” 

Mine host was as good as his word, bringing 
with the promised repast a delectable white wine 
of the country to which I had always been partial. 

“ Have you lately been within the walls of 
Padua?” I inquired, when I had satisfied my keen- 
est craving, the inn-keeper having approached to 
ask if everything was satisfactory. 


34 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 

“ But last week, Messere. I always go in on 
market day.” 

“Ah, then you must be somewhat familiar 
with the city !” 

“That is true, Messere, having always lived 
in this portion of the Mark, and attended many 
a festa of San Antonio in Padua. Also I have 
a brother who is a town-dweller with whom I fre- 
quently exchange visits.” 

“A brother! Is it so?” 

“ Even so, Messere. It is he who keeps the 
Sign of the Mulberry not far from the gate in 
the Via Venezia.” 

The Sign of the Mulberry! Not only did I 
remember the little old slant-roofed building, but 
there also flashed into my mind the squat and 
rotund figure of a man whom I had seen in the 
inn doorway, the very counterpart of my present 
host of the tavern by the Brenta. Dame Fortune 
had been kind. I was now provided with a haven 
of refuge from which I could reconnoiter before 
revealing myself to my family. 

“ If Messere thinks of tarrying in Padua I am 
sure he will find my brother’s inn as comfortable 
as any in the city, although it is small. You have 
but to say that you stopped with Ser Martino 
at the Inn of the Pilgrims to have the best that 
my brother’s kitchen and cellar afford.” 

“ I am infinitely obliged to you,” I began, when, 
silhouetted against the moon-gleam of the night, 
a man appeared in the highroad entrance to the 


A WANDERER RETURNS 


35 


common-room, and put a pause on further speech. 

But an instant before my gaze had rested upon 
the very spot where he now stood, and I had dis- 
cerned naught; yet the stranger was clearly flesh 
and blood and no vapory apparition. Tall, erect, 
supple, he strode forward evenly until he stood 
within a few paces of the astonished landlord and 
myself when he paused with a graceful salutation 
that included us both. 

His hose was white with dust, indicating that 
he traveled on foot, and although his face was 
wholly strange and foreign I leaped at the con- 
clusion that he might be one who, like the company 
that had so lately hastened away, found the at- 
mosphere of Padua too heated for his health. But 
herein, as anon appeared, I was mistaken. 

In an agreeable voice, speaking with the care- 
ful precision of one conversing in a language not 
his own, he requested entertainment from the land- 
lord, and from me permission to share my table, 
a courtesy which I could but grant so civilly 
was the wish expressed, although I was in no mood 
for ordinary conversation. 

Almost swarthy of countenance was this un- 
heralded arrival out of the night, but possessing 
features delicate in contour. His hands were re- 
markably slender, yet I hazarded the guess that 
they had the strength of finely tempered steel. I 
had seen such hands among the natives of the 
East. Indeed the more I looked upon my mysteri- 
ous table companion the more did I become con- 


36 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


vinced that he belonged to some one of the nation- 
alities in the lands which I had recently quitted, 
or in climes still farther removed toward the 
rising sun. 

I addressed him casually in Greek. He replied 
in the same tongue with suavity. 

I knew Constantinople? Yes? A wonderful 
city! And he launched forth into a dissertation 
upon it. And yet his praise was not that of a 
native. His enthusiasm was not pitched in so 
high a key. Then we fell to speaking of other 
great towns, and I discovered that his acquaintance 
with them was wide, and in some cases intimate. 
He exercised over me an influence that was hard 
to analyze. His conversation was like the play of 
a skillful swordsman whose point darts now here, 
now there, shimmering and unanticipated. I had 
continually a sense that he was leading up to some- 
thing — what it might be was wholly beyond my 
power to grasp. Nor when I left him, and retired 
to my room, had I any idea whether he had effected 
his purpose. I had revealed to him that I pro- 
posed to seek Padua on the morrow, and, to my 
surprise, he had admitted a like intent. In so far 
as this was concerned, it had been give and 
take. Further than this, — well, I finally aban- 
doned endeavoring to fathom so puzzling a person- 
ality. One thing, however, I had to thank him 
for. He changed the current of my meditations, 
and thus enabled me to find sleep, whereas I might 
otherwise have remained awake long into the night 


A WANDERER RETURNS 


37 


watches brooding over my own shadowy future, 
and what ominous revelations might await me when 
I passed within the door of my home in the street 
of San Michele. 

Plan as wisely and carefully as he may, how 
little a mortal knows when he seeks his couch at 
night concerning the outcome of his intentions 
for the next sun-lit hours! On retiring I had 
it in mind that exactly at four o’clock on the 
day following I would mount my steed, and seek 
the Sign of the Mulberry in the Via Venezia of 
Padua. It was, in fact, precisely one week from 
the day and hour anticipated that I really made 
a start from the Inn of the Pilgrims on the banks 
of the Brent a. 

I never was able to decide fully the character 
of the insidious illness that overtook me, that 
gripped my throat as with a clutch of fire, nor 
where, nor how, I contracted the infection. For 
four days I writhed and tossed in its cruel rigors, 
ministered to with rough kindness by the land- 
lord and one of his menials, and then the pain 
and rigidity of the muscles relaxed. It was, how- 
ever, three more days before I regained sufficient 
strength to journey forward, uneasy as I was to 
be gone. 

On the afternoon of my westward riding (it 
was the day of San Bartolomeo Apostolo, which 
is August the twenty-fourth), the sun went down 
the sky sanguine and sullen. The atmosphere was 
absolutely lifeless. My horse, despite his week’s 


38 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 

inactivity, and his total recovery from lameness, 
evinced no sign of ambition, and had to be urged 
from a walk. The fields were burned a coppery 
brown. The leaves in the orchards were russet 
in spots as though plague-smitten. 

As I approached Padua, and its towers and 
walls rose out of the girdling olives, they were 
bathed in a crimson haze. I crossed one of the 
branches of the Bacchiglione, and drew near the 
Porta Venezia. There was a strange quietude 
about the gateway where I could see only a few 
men-at-arms lounging. What had happened, I 
wondered, to the customary crowd of beggars and 
the hucksters with their booths? 

Riders or footfarers, coming or going, were 
wholly wanting, and that grim paladin, Fear, made 
an assault upon the citadel of my heart, but I 
would not turn back. I half expected to be bidden 
to halt as I rode within the gate, but save for 
glowering looks from the German hirelings there 
stationed I was vouchsafed no greeting. Far up 
the street, beneath the arcades, I could detect a 
few hurrying forms. A pair of friars, with bent 
heads, crossed the Via Venezia and were lost in a 
side thoroughfare. 

I halted at the Sign of the Mulberry. Its two 
doors were closed. In a dim passage which led 
to the stables I had a glimpse of one whom I took 
to be a hostler, and after I had thrice holloaed to 
him he came slinking out. 

“ What, in the name of heaven, has descended 


A WANDERER RETURNS 39 

upon the city?” I demanded, as I dismounted 
and handed him the bridle. 

He looked at me an instant like a dumb person, 
then moved away without reply, my horse follow- 
ing. 

I flung back the door of the common-room and 
entered. Alone in the uncertain light at the rear 
of the place sat a replica of the keeper of the 
Inn of the Pilgrims in the act of lifting a tankard 
to his lips. He gazed at me dully. 

“ Is this Ser Antonio?” I inquired, for his 
name had been given me by his brother. “I 
have just ridden from Ser Martino and the Inn of 
the Pilgrims.” 

The instinct of hospitality, which up to this 
moment had apparently been in abeyance, returned 
on a sudden. Down went the tankard, and the 
man was upon his feet. 

“ My poor house is at Messere’s disposal,” he 
said. 

“ That is all very well,” I cried, in a fit of 
exasperation, “ but before I have aught to do 
with your house, or what it contains, tell me what 
ails this wretched town! Has the fiend seized it?” 

He staggered back as though some one had 
smitten him, and held out both his hands as though 
he would silence me, moistening his lips as he 
echoed my words in an agonized whisper, — 

“ The fiend ! — Mother of God, hush ! Do you 
wish to die the death of the damned? Such would 
be your fate if that name reached his ears, and 
he has spies everywhere!” 


40 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


Again I grappled and wrestled in desperation 
with the awful Fear. That very day the ultimate 
stroke had fallen. I felt it in my marrow, but 
I would not question the panic-gripped Ser An- 
tonio. Later, when night had closed in, I re- 
solved that I would steal forth and determine for 
myself what tragedy had wrought such blight 
and terror. 


CHAPTER V 

WHAT THE WANDERER FOUND 

If I ate and drank that evening it must have 
been after the manner of an automaton. I can 
well remember, however, with what care I arrayed 
myself, when darkness began to gather, in the 
contracted chamber which I had chosen high be- 
neath the eaves. I put aside my travel-worn 
apparel, and donned the only other raiment it had 
been possible to bear with me, a suit with trunk 
and hose of dark blue and doublet of the same 
color, taking precaution to fasten beneath the last 
named garment a shirt of finely-wrought chain 
mail. 

Over all I flung a long black cloak, saw that 
my highly-tempered Nicean blade was loose 
in its scabbard, perched my closely fitting cap with 
its single gray plume at the fitting angle, and 
lightly descended the stairs. I might have been 
a discreet gallant going to tryst with his lady-love, 
or a bravo sallying forth upon a desperate errand, 
instead of a returned wanderer about to seek his 
home, and fearing to find that which I had reso- 
lutely not permitted myself to picture. 

Ser Antonio, sitting in the common-room with 
two grave-faced men who had the air of merchants, 
saw me passing out, half rose as though he would 
utter some word of caution or remonstrance, and 
then resumed his former position. On issuing 

41 


42 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


into the open air, I immediately discovered that 
there were more folk abroad than there had been 
on my arrival. I likewise soon realized that they 
were for the most part the very scum and dregs 
of the population. They traveled in pairs, or 
in groups of three or four, and a single way- 
farer like myself was clearly the great exception. 
I encountered some of the city guards, and an oc- 
casional small body of German hirelings, and was 
stared at by them with a curiosity that amounted 
to insolence. Giving them no heed, however, avoid- 
ing the arcades wherever it was possible, and 
keeping to the center of the thoroughfares, I 
won at length, without molestation, to the two ad- 
jacent chief piazzas of the town where commonly, 
on fine evenings, the more pleasure-loving citizens 
were wont to congregate. These squares were 
almost absolutely empty. Lights shone in a few 
of the lesser wine shops, a flambeau tossed a smoky 
flame here and there as a warm gust swept around 
a dark corner, but silence held the place as com- 
pletely as though midnight had long since struck 
from the tower of Santa Croce. 

Quieting by sheer strength of will the dread 
thoughts that clamored in my brain, I hurried on. 
Every nerve in my body was tense. It seemed 
to me that I could not wait to compass the dis- 
tance between the pavement over which I strode 
and the familiar home doorway in the street of San 
Michele. 

What awaited me there? My father and mother? 


WHAT THE WANDERER FOUND 43 


— Warm kisses, loving words, tender looks, — all 
that for which my heart yearned, — or should I 
find? — 

I set my teeth hard together. What was that 
dark object yonder near where the Via Gigantessa 
debouched into the Piazza of the Signori? A 
scaffold! 

I began to run. I grew hot and cold by turns. 
I plunged across the Strada Maggiore. 

“ Halt !” cried a commanding voice. 

Out from an arcade a few paces away strode 
two of the city guards. 

“ I have an appointment, Signori,” I cried to 
them, slackening my pace as a matter of caution, 
“ and I am late !” 

Then I hastened on again, and they did not 
further summon me to stay, nor should I have 
obeyed had they done so. Afar in the east the 
moon had risen, but into the narrow street through 
which I now darted its rays did not penetrate. 
Later, when it had climbed the sky, its gleams 
would filter sparingly through some of the machi- 
colations in the frowning roofs, but for the pre- 
sent neither nature nor artifice illumined the path 
which I was pursuing. 

A turn, and I was at the upper extremity of the 
Via San Michele. It was a trifle less gloomy here, 
because the highway was broader, and lights shone 
in some of the windows. At the black entrance 
to an alley I caught the fleeting flutter of the 
garments of a light-o’-love or a wary fly-by-night. 


44 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


but there was evidence of no other human presence. 

Half-way down the Via San Michele stood the 
Palazzo Camposanpiero, and commonly upon such 
an evening as this there would have been a bright 
lanthorn swinging above the entrance, but now 
there was none. Indeed not a single palace or 
dwelling upon the street displayed this accustomed 
beacon. 

I slipped my cloak from my shoulders so that 
my progress should not be impeded. Now I was 
at the juncture of the Via Santa Maria della 
Carmine, and now — 

While I was yet a number of paces distant from 
my home I fancied that I could descry some dark 
objects upon the pavement partially blocking the 
thoroughfare. I had my sword out in a trice, 
and with the point presented ran crouching for- 
ward. Then I stopped abruptly before a chaotic 
mass of wreckage which, as I peered at it, I saw 
to be dismembered furniture, rent hangings, and 
shattered ornaments. 

I gazed at the palace entrance. The doorway 
gaped like a black pit. I looked above. Such 
windows as I could distinguish were like eyeless 
sockets. And the awful silence! It caught my 
heart as in a vise, and every sense, every feeling, 
seemed for a space to leave my body. 

What if I had anticipated this ruthless ruin? 
What if the whole city had whispered of death? 
What if the very walls, the very stones over which 
I had trod, had breathed the destruction and doom 


WHAT THE WANDERER FOUND 45 


of all I held dear? Still somewhere, in some inner 
sanctuary of my soul the voice of hope, no more 
than a faint murmur, and yet audible, had buoyed 
me and kept me brave. I had suffered enough 
before this moment, and the final agony left me 
numb. 

At length I roused from my stupor into which 
I had been cast by the malignant havoc which 
confronted me, picked my way through the 
evidences of mad violence, and went gropingly 
up the cumbered steps and into the palace entrance. 
The great door had been half battered from its 
hinges, and sagged against the right-hand wall. 
My eyes becoming somewhat accustomed to the 
darkness, I was able to pick a path to the base 
of the main staircase which I unhesitatingly be- 
gan to ascend. When near the top my tensely- 
keyed ears were attracted by a faint sound which 
proceeded from the blind obscurity above. 

Some one was moving to and fro in one 
of the upper rooms. Presently there fell a flicker 
of light down the well of the staircase. This 
for a second illumined the wide upper hallway 
which I made out to be in the main free from the 
clutter of broken furniture, so I stole swiftly on 
tip-toe along it, and, two steps at a time, sped 
upward toward the third story. 

Then there rose the sound of voices, low at 
first, but soon loud in angry dispute. 

“ Robbers!” thought I, 44 such as follow on the 
track of destruction and rapine! Doubtless they 
are quarreling over some bit of booty!” 


46 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


And I was right, for when I reached the door 
of one of the rear chambers whence the noise of 
altercation proceeded there were two tattered and 
haggard rascals, by the gleam of a candle which 
had been set upon the floor thrusting furiously 
at each other with knives. Indeed before I had 
time to utter a word and bid them cease, one had 
received his quietus, and sank down with a gasp 
and a gurgled oath while the other jeered at him 
in triumph. 

“ You would play the pig, would you?” he cried. 
“ Well, you have got the sticking which you 
deserve, and you’ll rot — ” 

Just then he glanced up and saw me in the 
doorway. His legs began to shake; his knife 
fell with a clatter, and he commenced to cross 
himself. Finally he sank upon his knees. His 
companion in the interval had stiffened spasmodi- 
cally and was still. 

Evidently the murderer kneeling before me 
fancied me an avenging spirit. After a little 
this notion would pass, and his thwarted malicious 
instincts would return. While he crouched there, 
shaking with terror, I would force him to relate 
to me the day’s happenings. I could wait no 
longer. I must hear the worst, and as well from 
the lips of this wretch as from those of another. 
When I had learned what I desired he should go, 
for I had no wish to play the part either of judge 
or avenger. 

“ Listen, villain, !” I said. “ You are to tell me 


WHAT THE WANDERER FOUND 47 

what you know of the tragedy within these walls. 
And then, — well, we shall see what then.” 

My command was so wholly unexpected, so 
entirely different from what he had anticipated 
it would be, that he stared at me in blank amaze- 
ment. 

44 You heard, did you not? ” said I. 44 I have 
reasons for wishing to listen to your story of 
what has lately taken place in the Palazzo Campo- 
sanpiero.” 

Still he could not seem to comprehend, and his 
only speech consisted of a series of incoherent 
stammerings. Finally he blurted out, — 

44 I had naught to do with it, Caveliere.” 

44 I presume not,” I assured him, 44 but you 
are aware, are you not, either from personal obser- 
vation or from hearsay, what occurred? I was 
not in Padua to-day,” I explained, 44 and would 
fain be told what has been going on in this palace 
and in the city.” 

A gleam of comprehension lighted his shifty 
and cunning eyes. 

44 1 will tell his Lordship all I know,” he said, 
affecting a disgustingly humble air. 

44 That is better,” I remarked. 44 Be brief and 
to the point.” 

44 1 was this morning, Caveliere, standing in 
front of the church of Santa Maria, having just 
finished a prayer to the saint, a supplication for 
aid as I have long been out of employment, when 
there marched through the piazza a large party 


48 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


of German hirelings and quite a body of the city 
guards. There have been many arrests and execu- 
tions of late, for certain citizens in high place 
have displeased the Lord of the City, and I natur- 
ally surmised that another of the nobility was 
about to be seized, one of lofty station, too, and 
likely to make a resistance, else why so great a 
display of force. With many others I followed in 
the rear of the men-at-arms until they came to a 
halt here before the Palazzo Camposanpiero. The 
German who was in command sounded a loud sum- 
mons which was answered from the balcony by 
Messer Camposanpiero himself, demanding what 
was wished. 

“ ‘Your immediate surrender on the charge of 
conspiracy and treason against the state, 5 was the 
reply. ‘ You are to accompany me, with all be- 
neath your roof, and be judged before his Lord- 
ship, Ezzelino da Romano! 5 

“ At this Messer Camposanpiero stated that he 
realized that it was useless to combat such over- 
whelming odds, yet inasmuch as he was no traitor, 
but loyal in all respects to the best interests of 
the state, he should not submit tamely, and would 
not go below to unbar the door. He then with- 
drew. It was impossible to gain entrance into 
the palace until a huge beam was secured and 
used as a ram. Then the soldiers rushed in, drag- 
ging all the family out save one, a cousin of 
Messer Camposanpiero, it was said, who rather 
than yield cast himself from one of the upper 


WHAT THE WANDERER FOUND 49 


windows. Later in the day Messer Camposanpiero 
was executed in the Piazza of the Signori to- 
gether with all his male relatives who could be 
found in the city. The prisons, it is rumored, 
hold the women and children. It was permitted 
that the people help themselves to the possessions 
of a traitor, and I had returned — ” 

“ Enough !” I thundered, catching up the candle. 
“ Now rise!” I added, menacing him with my 
sword, “ and shoulder that !” and I pointed to the 
rigid body of his slain comrade. 

He shrank away from the corpse with a cry 
of horror, but I gave him his choice between do- 
ing my bidding and starting upon the dark jour- 
ney on which he had sent his companion, and finally 
I had him marching in front of me down the stairs 
bearing the dead body. As we neared the palace 
entrance I extinguished the taper. 

“ Off with you !” I cried, when we had stepped 
into the street. 

He turned his head toward me for an instant, 
and I could fancy the look of malignity upon his 
evil face, veiled by the darkness. Then he started 
to run. He had not gone many paces ere, through 
the gloom, I beheld him cast his stark burden 
into the gutter, and scurry away like a rat into 
the engulfing night. 


CHAPTER VI 

IN THE PALACE OF EZZELINO 

I sank down upon the lowest step of the palace 
entrance, leaned sidewise against the wall, and 
stared with unseeing eyes before me. I was the 
last of the Camposanpieresi. The demon of Ro- 
mano had bided his time, and now that he had 
struck his blow was of the deadliest. Only the 
merest chance had saved me from the general 
destruction. Tears? my grief was too great for 
them! Life? What was there left in it for me? 
Vengeance, perhaps, but what could a single hand 
avail against the all powerful Ezzelino? Yet as 
I sat there in a kind of stupefaction I began 
telling myself that one man practically unaided 
had put a pause upon the heart-beats of other 
tyrants, why not I upon those of this one who had 
throttled in so bloody a fashion the freedom of 
Padua? Here was something to continue exist- 
ing for, to strive for by night and by day. 

By night ! — the hours of darkness ! What more 
fitting time for the vengeance stroke? And why 
wait? Why, indeed? I did not pause to reason 
out the mad hazard of it all, for I was sorrow- 
crazed. I determined that I would win my way 
that very evening into Ezzelino’s presence, and 
smite him to the heart. This was all I thought 
of as I sprang up and started down the Via San 
Michele. I did not consider how I was to gain 

50 


THE PALACE OF EZZELINO 51 


access to the tyrant. Fate would bring it about. 

The palace of the Romanesi had been erected 
during my boyhood in the Via San Tomasso. It 
was a noble building designed by a certain Messer 
Arturio Cantarelli from Florence whom Ezzelino 
lured to Padua by the promise of a large emolu- 
ment, — a promise which, rumor said, had never 
been kept. Indeed, gossip had it, that when 
Messer Cantarelli pressed the Lord of Romano 
for payment the latter cast the venturesome archi- 
tect wantonly into prison whence he barely escaped 
with his life. 

It was toward this building, situated at some 
distance from the Palazzo Camposanpiero, that I 
now hurried, the fever of revenge consuming me. 
Avoiding mercenaries and city guards, pausing 
now in an arcade corner and now in the entrance 
of a gloom-shrouded passage to allow wandering 
bands of night-birds to go by, I soon found myself 
approaching the Palace of Ezzelino. Whatever 
the city was elsewhere, here it showed no lack of 
life and light. Every window of the lofty abode 
of the city tyrant was aflood with radiance. There 
was much hastening out and in of citizens clad 
in their best attire, while men-at-arms paraded 
to and fro with clatter of light mail and grat- 
ing of pikes upon the stones, and with rough 
banter and gruff laughter. 

I had paused to adjust my cloak beneath the 
shadow of an arcade arch, intending the moment 
after to mingle with those who were evidently 


52 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


offering their allegiance to the imperial Vicar, 
when I marked several men drawing near. They 
were walking quietly along the arcade passage- 
way, conversing in subdued tones. I squeezed in- 
to an adjacent niche, supposing that they would 
be gone shortly, but they halted within a few 
feet of my place of concealment, and I became 
unintentionally a listener to their confidences. 

There were four of them, and it was clear from 
their dress, bearing and speech that they were 
gentlemen. 

One separated himself from the others and 
glanced toward the palace. 

“ You had best leave me here,” he said. “ It 
is close upon the hour set for the conference, and 
Pelavicini will have arrived already.” 

At the mention of this well known noble of 
Cremona and Piacenza I pricked up my ears. 

“ Well, Da Doara,” said one of the trio, “ you 
understand our position in regard to the alliance. 
Stand your ground, and do not allow that wily 
devil of a Vicar to circumvent you !” 

Da Doara! Another Cremonese leader! Appar- 
ently there was to be a meeting between Ezzelino 
and these noblemen that night to consider an agree- 
ment of some character between Cremona and 
Padua. 

“ Good night !” said one of the three. 

“ And good fortune !” said the second. 

“And good courage!” said the third. 

Then they departed at a smart pace, and left 
Da Doara alone. 


THE PALACE OF EZZELINO 53 


As he stood there meditating, he turned his face 
sidewise. The sudden flare from a flambeau car- 
ried by a citizen passing through a neighboring 
street illumined his features, and I was impressed 
by their striking resemblance to my own. 

Fate, the fate in which I had so implicitly 
trusted when I set forth from my sacked and 
disrupted home on my errand of vengeance, had 
flung this opportunity in my path. Here was a 
man who was expected in the palace of Ezzelino. 
We were remarkably alike in form and feature. 
Were he for an hour or more put out of the 
way I could take his place, and by the exercise 
of a little boldness gain the presence of the tyrant. 
So far as I could see the chances were wholly in 
my favor could I dispose of Da Doara. It was 
highly probable that the Marquis Pelavicini was 
the only person who would recognize me as an 
imposter, and I might be able to carry out my 
deadly intent before he could intervene or expose 
me. 

These various considerations went through my 
brain like a lightning flash, and without a second’s 
hesitation I slipped my cloak from my shoulders, 
cast it about the head of the Cremonese noble- 
man, and pulled him violently backward. So 
entirely was he taken by surprise that he fell 
heavily, his startled cry completely muffled by 
the folds of my garment. He seemed partially 
stunned, so I had no difficulty in binding and 
gagging him with strips of his own cloak, and 


54 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


having dragged him to a convenient dark comer 
of the arcade, I straightened my own attire, and 
sallied unhesitatingly toward the abode of the 
Romanesi. 

Hard upon the heels of two worthy burghers 
I passed into the semi-court or lower hall. Here 
I had my first glimpse of the members of the 
Saracen body-guard with whom Ezzelino about 
this time surrounded his person. Lithe and sinewy 
they were, swart of countenance, garbed after 
the far eastern mode with tunics and turbans, and 
armed with curved blades of watered steel. 

I heard above the murmur of many voices. 
There was lights everywhere, on tables, in niches, 
in sconces, illumining the gay scene. No one would 
have dreamed that a fearsome tragedy had that 
day been enacted. When I reached the stair head, 
still following in the wake of the burghers with 
whom I had entered, I beheld, in the large banquet- 
hall which opened directly before me, a sort of 
levee in progress. At the portal to this room, 
and at certain intervals within, were stationed 
members of the Saracen body-guard, mute and 
statuesque. Eagerly and swiftly I advanced, 
searching among those strolling to and fro for 
the face of him on whom I had come to wreak 
vengeance, but I descried it not. Never had I 
been more calm, never more self-contained. I gave 
no emotion play, held every sense restrained but 
alert. 

The inward movement of the press was for the 


THE PALACE OF EZZELINO 


55 


most part in one direction, and that toward the 
further end of the room where there was a group 
of folk standing in a semi-circle. I saw several 
join and several detach themselves from this 
gathering. Here, I thought, is the cause of my 
sorrow, the evil tyrant whom I seek. Not until 
I was hard by did I discover my error, and then 
it was too late to withdraw. The man around 
whom the crowd was congregated, offering com- 
pliment and felicitation, was Ezzelino’s nephew, 
the Podesta, Ansedisio dei Guidotti. 

At one time, toward the close of my first year 
of study at the University, I had seen something 
of this Ansedisio. Although he was considerably 
older than I, and left the University the year after 
my entrance, we chanced for a brief period to 
be thrown together by our mutual interest in 
astrology upon which lectures were being given 
just then by a celebrated savant from Adrianople, 
one of the famous family of Paleogi. 

I had always spent more time at our country 
seat, Fonte, than at our Padua home. My special 
intimates had been young men of other towns, 
and there was no one in the city more likely to 
recognize me than the man to whom I must now 
perforce speak with flattering phrase, as ap- 
peared to be the order of the evening. Our paths 
had been for years widely separated, and yet de- 
spite the lapse of time and my altered appearance 
there were dangerous possibilities in the meeting. 
I knew I must put on an assured front. The 


56 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


slightest hesitancy might prove my undoing, and 
taking for granted that he was acquainted with 
the fact that envoys from Cremona were in the 
city, and were that night to confer with Ezzelino, 
when my turn came I was glib in my greeting. 

“ Messer da Doara of Cremona offers congratu- 
lations to the Podesta of Padua, “ I said, extend- 
ing my hand. “ Although my business here is 
with his Lordship, the imperal Vicar, I could not 
pass this gathering without expressing to you my 
good wishes.” 

“ You do me great honor, Caveliere, “ Ansedisio 
answered, and I noted that he was vastly pleased. 

He had gained greatly in flesh since I had 
last encountered him, and now his heavy face 
brightened, he straightened his loose figure, and 
prepared to address his conversation wholly to 
me. 

This was not at all what I desired. No shade 
of suspicion in regard to my identity had as yet 
entered his mind, and I had no wish to arouse 
any slumbering recollection by a blundering reply 
to a chance question. 

“ I am already late,” I said, “ and, moreover, 
I must not deprive these good people of an oppor- 
tunity to tell you how high they hold you in their 
esteem.” 

He smiled graciously. 

“ I shall see you later on, I trust,” he remarked. 
“ After these duties are over — ” this with a con- 
descending hand-wave, “and such serious matters 


THE PALACE OF EZZELINO 57 

as you have to discuss with my uncle are settled, 
there will be a season for lighter entertainment.” 

“ It will be a pleasure to meet you again under 
those circumstances.” 

I started to move away, but paused an instant. 

“ His Lordship, the Vicar?” I questioned. “ The 
directions which I received below led me to infer 
that I should find him — ” my look was an inter- 
rogation. 

“ Yes ! yes !” he said, “ yonder !” and he nodded 
toward a closed door at the left where a grim 
Saracen was standing. “ My secretary, Messer 
Carlo, will conduct you.” 

He spoke briefly to a young man near him, 
giving him instructions. 

“ Now if you will follow,” he said. 

I turned to accompany the secretary, as sug- 
gested, when I was conscious that Ansedisio was 
walking by my side. 

“You remind me singularly of some one, of 
whom I know not, Messer da Doara,” he remarked 
urbanely. “ Can it be that we have met ere this ?” 

“ I fancy not, Messere,” I replied. “ I cannot 
recall that I have ever seen you in Cremona, and 
to-day I am visiting Padua for the first time.” 

It was eye to eye now, and whatever lurking 
fancy was stirring at the back of his brain must 
have been wholly dispelled by my straightforward 
and confident air. 

“A chance resemblance, doubtless,” he said, with 
a suave bow, leaving me and giving his ear to 


58 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


those who were eager to engage his attention. 

The peril of discovery had been so imminent 
that when it was averted I was left in a daze. I was 
restored to a sense of my position and surround- 
ings by the voice of Messer Carlo, the Podesta’s 
secretary. 

“If Messere will wait here I will inform the 
Lord of Romano of his arrival,” he was saying, 
and I comprehended that I had drawn near to 
the door indicated by Ansedisio where the grim 
Saracen was standing. 

I acceded to the secretary’s request, and he 
passed within. The crucial moment had arrived, 
and now that the danger of being recognized was 
over I was as calm and as determined as before 
it had threatened. Befall what might after the 
deed was accomplished, I would rid the earth of 
a monster, and spare humanity from sharing the 
fate of those whom I had loved. 

Revolving these thoughts, I awaited with my 
hand upon my sword-hilt the summons of the 
secretary. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE EMISSARY OF THE OLD MAN OF 
THE MOUNTAINS 

The moments dragged by, and Messer Carlo 
did not re-appear. With ears keyed to catch the 
first sound that should prelude the opening of the 
door leading to the apartment where Ezzelino and 
the Marquis Pelavicini were conferring, I let my 
eyes rove over the men congregated near me, and 
presently discerned one who was apparently a 
member of the Saracen body-guard making his 
way slowly toward me. In spite of the fact that 
his turban was so arranged as to conceal much of 
the upper part of his face, his features struck 
me as strangely familiar. Was it possible that 
I had encountered this man before in another 
garb? It seemed altogether unlikely, and yet when 
he halted in front of the guardian of the door, 
and began conversing with him in some strange 
tongue, I could not take my eyes from his counte- 
nance. 

From the late comer’s gesticulation, I judged 
that it was his mission to relieve from his duties 
the one acting as sentinel and that for some rea- 
son this individual did not choose to depart. He 
did yield at length, however, with an expressive 
shrug of his shoulders, as much as to say he 
washed his hands of the entire proceedings. Now, 
as this new guard wheeled about and stood at 

59 


60 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


attention, I had a better view of the outline of 
his face, and with a thrill of wonder I realized 
where I had seen him. 

He was the man who had glided in so silently 
and unexpectedly that first night at the Inn of 
the Pilgrims on the banks of the Brenta. 

I took a swift step nearer to him, and without 
considering what might be the result of my rash 
action, addressed him in Greek. 

“ It appears that we meet again,” I said, in 
an undertone. 

He moved his head slowly, fixed his eyes upon 
me, and then looked calmly away. 

I smiled a little at this very evident lack of 
desire on his part to renew our acquaintance, and 
began measuring him with the thought of his 
being a possible bar to the carrying out of my 
purpose. He struck me, as had been the case 
when I first beheld him, as possessing tremendous 
latent power. That he was an ordinary Saracen 
guardsman seemed wholly improbable. He was 
a man of learning, of wide knowledge and experi- 
ence, of culture, — in short a gentleman. How 
chanced it, then, that he was doing guard duty 
in the guise of an oriental there in the palace of 
the tyrant of Padua? 

I moved back a step, and while waiting for 
the metalic sound of the door handle, pondered 
upon the strangeness of the meeting. 

Click! — the barrier swung inward revealing the 
Podesta’s secretary who flattened himself against 


THE EMISSARY 


61 


the wall to allow those behind him to pass. First 
strode an individual of commanding stature, rug- 
gedly shaped, heavily bearded, the Marquis Pela- 
vicini, I inferred, and then Ezzelino da Romano, 
dark-garbed, quick of movement, sending hither 
and thither his darting, sidelong glance. 

My blade was half drawn when that happened 
which I shall never be able adequately to describe 
with such incredible swiftness did it take place. 

Like a bolt from a bow, a suddenly acquired 
knife in hand, the supposed Saracen launched 
himself toward Ezzelino. But either he miscal- 
culated in his reckoning, or his foot slipped upon 
the glazed floor of the banquet-hall as he sprang. 
Instead of reaching his intended victim his stroke 
fell short, and although he instantly recovered 
himself, it was too late to execute his intent for 
the Marquis Pelavicini interposed his huge bulk 
between the Lord of Romano and his assailant. 

“ Seize him ! Seize him !” roared Ezzelino stri- 
dently. 

Some one shouldered me aside before I could 
deliver the blow in which the false guardsman 
had failed. A furious clamor arose. A sea of 
ferocious faces confronted the foiled murderer who 
had set his back against the wall, his turban now 
cast aside, his mien that of a wild beast at bay. 

Two men tried to close with him, but both 
received mortal wounds with such force and dread 
rapidity did the foiled oriental smite. 

“ What !” shrieked Ezzelino, now ringed about 


62 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


by a score of protectors, “will you burghers of 
Padua allow a single villian to defy you all? Call 
Hassan of the guards. He shall answer for this?” 

But Hassan of the guards was already at hand. 

“ Who is this wretch ?” Ezzelino demanded, 
flinging a lean arm out toward his still defiant 
attacker. 

The press parted, and Hassan, phlegmatic, low- 
browed, brutal, confronted the supposed guards- 
man who returned him glance for glance undis- 
mayed. 

“ His face is that of a stranger, Lordship,” 
said the captain of the Saracen guards. “ He 
is some one who has managed to intrude himself 
here, I know not how.” 

“ Disarm him, then, and we will soon persuade 
him to reveal who he is,” remarked Ezzelino, with 
sinister significance. 

“ You had best surrender,” advised Hassan, 
menacing the man by the wall. 

There was no answer. 

The head guardsman led deftly with his point. 
The stroke was parried. The long knife of the 
stranger seemed possessed of incredible magic. 
Again and again Hassan renewed the attack, and 
with like result. Finally a second guardsman crept 
in, delivered a cowardly blow, and the deadly knife 
fell ringing to the floor. The disarmed man leaned 
back with folded arms. 

“ Who are you ? Whence came you ?” demanded 
Ezzelino, after a dozen willing hands had pinioned 
the prisoner. 


THE EMISSARY 


Again there was no answer. 

44 You will not speak, eh?” thundered the tyrant. 
44 You, Hassan, heat that blade of yours in the 
flame of the sconce yonder. Let us see if the 
villian will not find a tongue.” 

There was a portentous hush in the place. Many 
stole grave glances at their neighbors. Some 
shifted uneasily. 

44 Now,” cried Ezzelino, 64 will you still keep 
silence? I shall not ask you again?” 

There was not even a quiver of the prisoner’s 
lip. 

64 The sword, Hassan !” 

The Saracen handed his weapon to the infuri- 
ated Yicar. The edge of the steel showed a line 
of angry red. 

44 Hold him tight,” said the tyrant, and he 
drew the fiery sword along the forehead of the 
pinioned man. 

A sigh went up, but not from the one who was 
being tortured. 

44 Heat the blade again !” commanded Ezzelino. 
44 This time,” he added, addressing the sufferer, 
44 1 shall touch your eyes. Now — ” this with a 
terrible ferocity — 44 will you speak? No? then 
haste, Hassan!” 

God, but it was horrible ! and there was I impo- 
tent, biting my lip until the blood ran, a cordon 
of citizens keeping me back from this demon. Then 
there crept into my brain the thought that had 
I, like this unfortunate wretch before me, aimed 


64 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


a blow at the tyrant, and failed in my desperate 
endeavor, the same torture would have been mine 
that this unknown was now undergoing. His re- 
fusal to reply to the questions put to him by the 
enraged Lord of Romano undoubtedly was the 
of severer treatment being visited upon him than 
he might otherwise have experienced, yet, in any 
event, he had naught to anticipate save death. 
Certain I am, however, that these considerations 
would not have deterred me had I discerned the 
opportunity of carrying into execution that for 
which I had come. I believe that it was harder, 
in one sense, to stand supinely by, and witness 
such inhumanities inflicted upon another than to 
have borne them myself. 

I was not the only one to turn aside, with look 
averted, when the final stroke of horror was 
endured by the obstinately silent prisoner. I was 
no stranger to sanguine scenes. What man who 
follows the trade of arms can be? On eastern 
battle fields I had gazed on death in many a shud- 
dering form, but for this inhuman mutilation I 
had no stomach. 

“ Does not Messer da Doara enjoy the spec- 
tacle?” inquired an oily voice at my ear. 

I raised my eyes, and there was the Podesta 
Ansedisio. I could have taken him by the throat 
and choked him with rare good will for the gloat- 
ing pleasure I detected in his glance, for the cat- 
like cruelty in the lift of his heavy lip. Ah, could 
he have penetrated the future a little, and scanned 


THE EMISSARY 


65 


a still more awful scene in which he himself was 
the central figure perhaps his tone would have 
lacked some of its brutal quality! 

I could not trust myself to reply, and gave 
my shoulders a shrug which I was willing to let 
him interpret as he pleased. 

“ There are occasions,” said he smoothly, “ when 
extreme measures are a necessity.” 

“ It may be so,” I acquiesced, for I suddenly 
realized that I could ill afford to antagonize the 
Podesta. 

Just here fortunately there came an interrup- 
tion. 

“ To the dungeons with him !” Ezzelino was 
saying, “and to-morrow we will devise other means 
of making him speak.” 

Two of the Saracens were leading the unfortu- 
nate man away when the tyrant of Padua stayed 
them. Motioning back those who surrounded 
him, he approached the prisoner whose upper gar- 
ment had been rent in the struggle revealing about 
his neck a thin chain of gold. Like a talon Ezze- 
lino’s hand shot out and snatched this from its 
resting place. As he held it up there dangled from 
it in view of all a talisman. This he placed in 
his left palm and studied it intently, showing it 
presently to those about him. There were low 
murmurs of curious comment, and during this 
diversion I contrived to separate myself from the 
Podesta and edge toward the entrance to the ban- 
quet-hall. 


66 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


“What make you of this, Hassan?” I heard 
Ezzelino say. 

The chief guardsman relegated his place at the 
prisoner’s side to another, and stepped back at 
the tyrant’s command. The instant his eyes fell 
upon the talisman he cried out something, and 
his face took on an expression of consternation. 

“ Its meaning !” demanded Ezzelino passionately. 
“ I see you know. Speak out !” 

Hassan moistened his lips, gazing with fear- 
filled eyes upon his master. 

“ He is an emissary,” he said, indicating the 
one who had been blinded, “ of the Old Man of 
the Mountains!” 

Even the Lord of Romano quailed, he in whose 
heart there abode pity for no living thing. 

The Old Man of the Mountains! Who among 
the rulers of Christendom, or heathendom, did not 
hold in dread that fearsome name! Far in the 
Syrian mountain fastnesses, secret and obscure, 
this mysterious potentate dwelt, sending out from 
his well-nigh inaccessible castle of Massiat his 
unscrupulous and daring agents with messages of 
death for those in high places against whom, for 
some unknown reason, his enmity had been aroused. 
Rashideddan Sinan, chief of the Assassins! 

The emotion of the Lord of Romano was but 
momentary. 

“ You think, do you not, Hassan,” he questioned, 
“ that the Old Man of the Mountains will, in some 
way, learn of his emissary’s fate, whatever it 
may be?” 


THE EMISSARY 


67 


“ I do not doubt it, Lordship !” 

46 Then,” exclaimed the tyrant, with terrible 
emphasis, 44 mayhap he will hesitate before dis- 
patching another of his servants hither! Con- 
duct your charge below!” 

Those who had been witnesses to the attempted 
assault upon Ezzelino, and to the astounding rev- 
elation which had followed the torture of his 
assailant, partisans all of them of the Lord of 
Romano, now crowded about him with eager con- 
gratulations. My hour had not yet struck. I 
saw if I would escape being enmeshed in a fatal 
coil I must hasten to depart from that place of 
dreadful deeds. I did not dare make myself con- 
spicuous by going forth alone, but mingled with 
the first of the outflowing tide. 

I was perhaps half-way down the staircase when 
a voice in the banquet-hall began trumpeting, — 

44 Messer da Doara ! Is Messer da Doara here ?” 

As I gained the outer air, a man, cloak-less 
and without head covering, jostled by me hurry- 
ing in. I had a fleeting glimpse of his anger- 
distorted face, and felt that I had ample cause 
to congratulate myself that I had not remained 
longer, for the individual was none other than 
Messer da Doara himself. 


CHAPTER VIII 
A FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY 

Half an hour later I was pondering upon my 
situation, seated on the narrow bed in my room 
beneath the eaves at the Sign of the Mulberry. 
I now knew myself to be a marked man. The 
appearance of Messer da Doara at Ezzelino’s 
palace on the very instant of my exit, with the 
tale of the outrage upon him which he would 
undoubtedly relate, would set the Lord of Romano 
into a very pretty rage. Ansedisio’s memory might 
be stimulated, and the truth dawn upon him. In 
any event it would not be safe for me to venture 
upon the streets again garbed as I was, for a 
description of my person would be communicated 
to every city guardsman and German hireling, 
and they would be keen to lay me by the heels. 

It swept over me how madly foolhardy I had 
been, and I was seized with a spasm of caution. 
I got out my razor and sacrificed my beard by 
the light of a feeble taper flame. A shaven man l 
— such was not the description of me that was 
sure to be widely published. My heart was still 
full of a burning spirit of revenge, but I now 
realized that I must adopt a different plan. 
Henceforth I would reserve boldness ’until the 
moment for the consummation of my vengeance 
had arrived. Many were the schemes which I 
turned over in my mind before I slept, but I had 

68 


A FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY 69 

fixed upon nothing definite when I finally lost con- 
sciousness. 

My thoughts were less chaotic when I awoke, 
and, crouching by the low casement, watched the 
hot dawn creep redly across the city roofs. I was 
already below when Ser Antonio began remov- 
ing his shutters. To him there and then I sold 
my horse. Hurriedly breaking my morning fast, 
as soon as the first shops were open I acquired 
a workman’s coarse garb of dull-colored stuff, 
packed this with my other belongings, settled my 
reckoning, and arrayed as I had been on my arri- 
val, hastened from the wider and more sightly 
highways of the town into the quarter where dwelt 
the meaner classes. 

Here I finally obtained clean lodgings in the 
house of an artisan in stone from whom, at noon- 
tide, I learned that there was a demand for un- 
skilled labor on the church of San Antonio, a por- 
tion of which was being rapidly pushed forward 
toward completion. Some occupation I felt would 
be desirable for many reasons. To lounge about 
would be to arouse suspicion. Were I one of a 
body of workmen small heed would be given to 
me save by my employer. After a little, I rea- 
soned, I could map out my course. Even then, 
had I but known it, fate was busy in my behalf, 
and when I set out that afternoon instead of lead- 
ing me directly to that part of the sacred edifice 
where the masons and stone cutters were busy, 
guided me by another thoroughfare to the already 


70 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


finished porch and door of the nave. Not a little 
to my surprise, the city having recovered from 
the terror of the day previous, I found quite a 
crowd of all grades and conditions of people 
thronging into the church, and made inquiry in 
regard to the cause of it. 

The man to whom I addressed my question, a 
merchant of the poorer sort, regarded me with 
amazement. 

“ Have you not heard,” he demanded, “ of the 
preaching of the wandering Franciscan? Prithee, 
where have you been keeping yourself this last 
sennight?” 

“ I am late from the country Venice-ward,” I 
told him, 64 where one does not learn all the affairs 
that occupy the town-dwellers.” 

“You should come within, then, and listen to 
what it behooves you to do for your soul.” 

He pushed ahead, and as my interview with 
the master stone-layer was in no wise urgent, I 
followed. 

The main body of the nave of San Antonio had 
for some time been in use for holy purposes, al- 
though undecorated and illy lighted, the tall 
windows being filled with great strips of white 
cloth which allowed the outer glow to filter through 
but meagerly. In a purple semi-gloom a great 
crowd was standing in an attitude of hushed expec- 
tancy. Dimly, in the distance, I could distinguish 
an improvised altar and pulpit. 

As I elbowed forward, lights began to prick 


A FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY 


71 


the obscurity where candles were being kindled. 
An acolyte appeared, swinging a censer, then some 
choir-boys, hidden by a screen, raised a chant in 
a clear haunting treble. Several priests commenced 
unctuously rolling out the Latin phrases of the 
service. I was in no mood for it all, and fell to 
wondering what possible magic there could be in 
a wandering friar to attract so great a throng. 
Then every sound died away, and a tense atten- 
tion gripped the gathering. 

I had managed to work my way to a spot quite 
near the pulpit, and I now saw a lean figure in 
the gray Franciscan garb ascending the steps. 
The face of the friar was averted until he reached 
the platform top when he turned it full upon the 
awaiting people. The countenance was one with 
which I was perfectly familiar, and I gaped at it 
in no small astonishment. 

The man was the Fra Salimbene di Adami of 
Parma, a holy ascetic and mystic who had fre- 
quently been the guest of my father at the castle 
of Fonte where he had sometimes preached in the 
chapel. He was but little older than myself, and 
although our ways of life and many of our tastes 
were widely divergent, we had considerable in com- 
mon, and I had always enjoyed conversing with 
him on his occasional visits. Indeed I considered 
him a very good friend, and I was well aware that 
he regarded me in the same light. A wanderer 
he was, as the merchant without the church had 
said, one with a wide experience for his years. 


72 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


Previously, when I had heard Fra Salimbene 
speak, he had not impressed me as having power 
to move men deeply. He had, to be sure, a search- 
ing voice, a voice with a pleading quality which 
might appeal to softer natures. He had, too, an 
illumining art of illustration, — of dressing that 
in regard to which he was discoursing in fair 
terms, with many happy images. Now I was to 
learn that he possessed something more, — an inner 
fire that flashed forth from his deep-set eyes, that 
lit his thin, low-browed, almost womanish face 
until it seemed to wear a halo. 

Since I had seen and heard him he had drunk 
deep at the fount of that celebrated apostle of 
mysticism, Giacchino da Flora, and it was of his 
prophecies of the coming of the Holy Ghost that 
he now spoke. 

“ Be prepared! Put aside iniquities! Don the 
garment of righteousness !” — such was the trend 
of his discourse. 

Was it strange that at such a time, a time of 
tyranny, of gross inhumanity, of rancor, of sus- 
picion, that his words found many eager listeners, 
for men were fain to behold a more peaceful and 
secure era dawn ! 

As he proceeded, he paused occasionally to let 
his eyes rest here and there upon his audience, 
leaning forward in the dim light as though he 
were anxious to discover what effect his sermon 
was producing. It was not until the close of his 
remarks that he turned his gaze upon the group 


A FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY 


73 


of which I was a member. Then his glance met 
mine, and lingered. There was that in his expres- 
sion which told me I had been recognized, and I 
was glad, for here was an adviser and confidant, 
though I recognized the fact that he was one who 
would endeavor to dissuade me from pursuing a 
course of violence. Notwithstanding this I made 
up my mind that I would tarry and speak with 
him if opportunity offered. 

At length he closed his exhortation, and blessed 
the people. While the credo was being sung he 
descended slowly from the pulpit, paused upon 
the last step, and smiled upon those about him. 
By dint of careful effort I contrived to work my 
way toward him. As I drew near he stepped 
down upon the floor of the church, and I thought 
he would depart without noticing me, but he 
lingered murmuring some kindly words to several 
expectant women. Then he swept a casual look 
at me, signed that I should follow, and moved 
into a clear space at the rear of the pulpit. When 
I reached his side, he gripped me by the arm, and 
without a syllable of comment, bore me rapidly 
along with him. 

In that portion of the sacred structure which 
was ultimately to form the apse a temporary rob- 
ing-room had been constructed, and it was thither 
that the friar conducted me. Paying no heed 
to three lay brothers who were occupying the 
center of the place, engaged in a religious argu- 
ment, he caught up a robe of the order and threw 


74 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


it about me, assisting me with nimble fingers to 
gird myself. This accomplished, he pulled the 
cowl over my head so that all my features save 
my mouth and chin were hidden. Then he seized 
upon my arm again. 

“ You are to come with me,” he said, and this 
was the first word which he had spoken since our 
meeting. 

We emerged, not upon one of the city thorough- 
fares, but into an open space where the stone 
cutters were at work. Threading our way be- 
tween the rough blocks which they were chisel- 
ing, we approached the rear entrance of the sole 
remaining building of a row of houses which had 
been razed to give room for the church of San 
Antonio. We walked swiftly, although I saw no 
need for haste, and as my companion seemed not 
inclined to talk I also forebore from speech. I 
felt sure that in good time he would have plenty 
to say. 

“ This is the House of the Franciscans,” the 
friar remarked at length, as we were entering, “ the 
temporary abode of the order, and you are to be 
my guest.” 

We passed through the kitchens and broad low 
dining-hall into the main front entrance room, 
climbed two flights of stairs, and then I was 
ushered into a narrow apartment at the rear, fur- 
nished with the barest necessities for two occu- 
pants. 

Here, when I had cast back my cowl, the friar 
embraced me with much emotion. 


A FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY 


75 


“Amico mio said he, his lips trembling, “ I 
have found you through God’s providence. How 
chanced you to venture into this devil-ridden city? 
Are you not aware that your name is to-day on 
every one’s lips ? If you have been abroad upon the 
streets it is a sheer miracle that you have not 
been apprehended. I think I can understand what 
prompted you to the hazard of last night, but 
surely you do not intend courting death after hav- 
ing once escaped so narrowly !” 

“ Then it is known that I was at Ezzelino’s 
palace!” I exclaimed. 

“ Known !” he echoed, “ aye, known to every 
mercenery of the tyrant, to every would-be in- 
former within Padua’s terror-infested walls!” 

“ I half surmised as much,” I said. “ Since 
last night I have somewhat changed my appear- 
ance.” 

“ So I presumed, but I beg you will leave the 
city as soon as may be. Even in the disguise 
which I have provided for you it will not be safe 
for you to remain long. In a few days I shall 
myself be departing. You shall go with me. That, 
I think, can be managed.” 

I shook my head. 

“ There is that which calls upon me to stay !” 

His eyes caught and held mine. 

“ You beheld, I infer, what the emissary of 
the Lord of the Assassins attempted and failed 
in?” 

I nodded. 


76 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


“Not in that way, believe me, will the end which 
all mankind would welcome be achieved. Let me 
hear your story, and then I shall have something 
to say to you.” 

Rapidly I related to him how I had received 
the news of the death of my brothers, and what 
had taken place since my departure from Nicea. 
Up to this moment it had seemed to me that all 
the softer human emotions were dead within me, 
slain by the great sorrow that had befallen me, 
but when I had finished, and Fra Salimbene said: 

“ Your mother still lives !” — tears flooded my 
eyes, and I wept upon the shoulder of my friend. 

“ Yes,” he went tenderly on, “ your mother 
lives, and is likely to come to no harm although 
she is in prison and will doubtless be compelled 
to remain there for a number of months. Your 
sister and her husband are safe in Modena whither 
they fled several weeks ago.” 

When my woeful passion had run its course, he 
went on with growing power. 

“ Your father and your cousins might be liv- 
ing still had they heeded my warnings, but they 
thought to triumph through craft, and the blow 
descended when they little dreamed of its menace. 
Who can blame them that they plotted? Not I, 
for they strove by forceful, yet not bloody 
means to overthrow an oppressor, one of the worst 
who has ever tyrannized over humanity. I mourn 
with you, Tiso, the irretrievable loss that has been 
visited upon you, but do not, I beseech you, make 


A FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY 77 


in your grief and wrath the same mistake that 
they did who are gone! Do not offer yourself 
a blind sacrifice, and a useless one, upon the altar 
of vengeance! This is a poor hour to preach to 
you, a soldier, the doctrine of forgiveness. I will 
spare you the ‘ I will repay, saith the Lord !’ It 
were a great deed, a noble deed, a deed that should 
earn the gratitude of thousands upon thousands 
of souls, the removal of this curse of mankind 
from his high estate. You may be a just instru- 
ment in effecting his downfall, if you will. Listen 
with care! I have this very day received writings 
which tell me that the Legate of his Holiness, 
the Pope, said Legate being Filippo Fontenase, 
Archbishop of Ravenna, is even now on his way 
to Ferrara to preach a crusade against the Yicar 
of the Marches. The Count of San Bonifacio 
will lend his arm and his money; the Marquis 
of Este will equip a troop; Venice and Bologna 
will swell the leaguer ; and every Paduan exile will 
rush to enlist under the banner of the allies as 
soon as it is unfurled. Will you not grasp this 
opportunity? With the Archbishop I am well 
acquainted. To him I will give you a letter set- 
ting forth your eminent fitness to command. Ere 
you can reach him he will have heard of the fate 
of your house, and will welcome you with sym- 
pathy as well as enthusiasm. He will confer office 
upon you at once, for he has it in his power to 
do so. How much more noble to fight and win 
in open battle for a good cause, than in the dark 


78 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


to strike the blow of a murderer, however deep 
the wrong you have suffered!” 

At the outset I had been but an indifferent 
listener; as he proceeded, however, I was com- 
pelled to hearken by his earnestness and eloquence. 
Finally I was forced to acknowledge to myself 
how exalted was his attitude as compared with 
my own. 

“ You may write the letter,” I said, rising. 
“ When can I set forth with it?” 

“I am delighted with you, my friend!” he 
exclaimed. “ In less than two weeks’ time we will 
depart together, as I have a pilgrimage to make 
as far as Rovigo, and possibly further. In the 
meanwhile you are to be my guest.” 

So a servant was dispatched for my belongings, 
and I became a dweller in the House of the Fran- 


ciscans. 


CHAPTER IX 

ENTER BEAUTY IN DISTRESS 

How the days dragged — like restless prisoners 
tugging at their chains, impatient to be free! 
Each afternoon I crept into the church to hear 
Fra Salimbene address the multitude, but further 
excursions, even under the cover of darkness, my 
good friend frowned upon. I endeavored not to 
chafe at this enforced inactivity, and yet try as 
I would my spirit grew restless. I was like a 
mewed falcon eager to stretch its wings. The 
friar saw how the long hours of waiting galled 
me, and exerted himself to the utmost to provide 
me with diversion. He gave me as much of his 
time as was possible, and was unfailingly enter- 
taining and inspiring in his conversation. To 
such an extent did he open his heart that he allowed 
me to read the chronicle of our age upon which 
he was then at work for the edification of his 
niece, the Suora Agnese. 

He procured for me the works of Latin writers, 
and we perused and discussed the makers of both 
prose and verse. There was a poet of our own 
day of whom he was particularly fond, a whimsical 
rhymer, Messer Patecchio of Cremona, whose 
latest effort, which he called “ A Book of Bores,” 
was just then being circulated. Fra Salimbene 
had recently tarried for a space in Cremona, and 
had procured a copy of this poem. When I felt 

79 


80 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


especially moody and dispirited, out he would draw 
Messer Patecchio, and with that rare smile of 
his roll out the freakish lines. 

One sullen day of cloud and rain and wind on 
the verge of September when we had ascended 
from the mid-day repast, and I had sunk upon 
my pallet in a kind of ill-tempered stupor, it was 
to Messer Patecchio that he resorted to pull me 
out of my fit of the megrims. 

“You are like our Cremona poet, — bored!” 
said he. 

I was too heavy-humored to answer. 

“ If I could unfrock myself for an hour,” he 
continued, “ I would lay you a wager.” 

I turned a little, and looked at him. 

“ Yes,” he went on, his eyes twinkling, “ and 
it would concern this, — that I can reproduce in 
rhyme quicker than you can the gist of Messer 
Patecchio’s argument.” 

He knew that once upon a time I had experi- 
mented with verses, for I had made this confes- 
sion to him. 

“ Humph !” cried I, somewhat ungraciously, 
“ and what, now that you have named the theme, 
would the amount of this said wager be if the 
unfrocking business could be brought about?” 

“ A repast more ample than the House of the 
Franciscans provides,” smiled he. 

I could but laugh in return, for of a truth 
we were little likely to cushion our bones with fat 
if we tarried long with the Paduan brethren of 
Saint Francis. 


ENTER BEAUTY IN DISTRESS 81 


“ I certainly will accept your proposal !” I 
exclaimed, now fully aroused, “ if you can get 
around your scruples !” 

He produced an ink-well, quills and parchment; 
then off went his robe. 

“ Behold me unfrocked !” he cried gaily. 

Thus did he jest to keep me from gloomy 
thoughts. He won the wager, too, and handily, 
and I have by me to this hour the condensation 
which he made of the sentiments of Messer Patec- 
chio. In this wise the lines run : — 

A pack of sorry bores there be 

Upon the earth wide wandering; — 

The pocked and flea-bit knave, pardie, 

Who vaunts himself as doth a king; 

The charletan who strives to sing 
With no more voice than hath a ghost; — 
Sooth, I am bored by many a thing, 

But lack of money bores me most ! 

The smirk and snugly coiffed ladye 
With ribband gay and eke with ring; 

The jester blithe whose bonhommie 
Is but a cloak for stab or sting; 

The jongleur’s endless ballading; 

The soldier who does naught but boast ; — 
Sooth, I am bored by many a thing. 

But lack of money bores me most! 

The lover sighing languorously 
In ilex alleys fresh with spring; 

The dame foredone with jealousy 

That to her lord must cleave and cling; 
Myself what time I cannot bring 
Keen appetite to juicy roast; — 


82 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


Sooth, I am bored by many a thing, 

But lack of money bores me most ! 

Comrades, the while I’m journeying 
Along life’s stern and stormy coast, 

Sooth, I am bored by many a thing, 

But lack of money bores me most! 

There came a time, however, when even Messer 
Patecchio would not avail to alter my restless 
and reckless mood. I had been a week in the House 
of the Franciscans, catching only a glimpse of 
the sky as I saw it from the narrow windows, or 
snatching a look at it as I hurried across the space 
between the church and the abode of the friars. 
The day had worn on until it was near its close. 
We had supped, and my friend had gone out to 
make a promised visit, leaving me to extract what 
solace I might from the Annals of Tacitus. Pre~ 
sently I closed the book. A little breeze crept 
in through the back-thrown casement and whispered 
to me of the delights of the open country. It 
bore the aroma of ripened fruitage. I seemed to 
see the deepening glow upon the grape, the 
brighter flush upon the cheeks of the apple and 
pear, the bursting skin of the fig. The glamour 
of the sunset had begun faintly to streak the sky. 
I could not throw off, could not resist the magic 
of the call. To pass beyond the city walls, — 
that was out of the question, but go forth into 
the streets of the city I could and would; not 
into the thronged piazzas and much-frequented 
highways, but along certain little-trodden by- 
paths with which I was familiar from of old, where 


ENTER BEAUTY IN DISTRESS 83 


one of the branches of the Bacchiglione slipped 
musically between ancient mossy barriers, and 
nightingale notes could be heard from behind the 
high stone palings of noble gardens. 

No sooner was the resolve taken than antici- 
pation — the thought of an hour’s freedom — lent 
wings to my feet. Only enough of the sense of 
caution remained with me to cause me to draw the 
cowl of my robe over my head as I stepped forth 
into the sweet late afternoon air. 

Instead of seeking the Via Santo, as the street 
upon which the fa$ade of the church of San An- 
tonio looks was already called, I struck rapidly 
into a narrow laneway which, after crooking thrice, 
debouched upon that branch of the Bacchiglione 
that bisects the city from a point near the Porta 
Saracinesca. Although the stream was low from 
drouth, the drowsy gurgle of the water, as it 
lapped the stones of the embankment which re- 
strained it, had a singularly soothing influence 
upon my perturbed mind. 

Reviewing, as I had already frequently done, 
what I had heard from the friendly friar in regard 
to the projected crusade against the Paduan 
tyrant, my thoughts leaped forward to the time 
when I should be able to take the field. I pictured 
the gathering of the forces, the enthusiasm by 
which I felt they would be animated, the setting 
out from an assigned point, the excitement and 
struggles of the campaign, and the final over- 
throw and death of him who had wrought so 


84 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


much cruelty and evil. Then I fell to thinking 
of my mother. Fra Salimbene had made several 
efforts to discover in which prison she was con- 
fined and had finally succeeded not only in locat- 
ing her whereabouts, but also in providing, through 
a warder on whose religious fear he had worked, 
for the amelioration of her state. We had been 
able to communicate with each other, and I quieted 
my fears for her safety by assuring myself that 
the hour was not far distant when the prison doors 
would gape. 

I had entirely to myself the path which curved 
gently with the bending of the river branch. Al- 
though at certain periods of the day it was much 
used by workmen going to and from their labors 
on San Antonio, as the shut of daylight drew 
on it was totally unfrequented. I was enjoying 
to the full the sense of unrestraint, the soft air, 
the beginnings of the nightingale song in the 
gardens beyond the high wall which bounded one 
side of the path which I was following, when my 
quiet reveries were broken in upon by a sound 
that puzzled me at first, but which I at length 
decided to be the low sobbing of a woman. 

I halted and listened. Faint and infinitely pa- 
thetic, from the garden just adjacent the mani- 
festation of grief continued. I looked up and 
down and beyond the stream to get my bearings. 
Then I descried, rising through some poplar boughs 
which topped the wall by twenty feet or more, a 
slender tower, — the tower of the pleasure villa of 
the Deslemaini. 


ENTER BEAUTY IN DISTRESS 85 

With this family, distantly allied though it was 
with the Camposanpieresi through my mother, we 
had had but little intercourse of recent years ow- 
ing to the fact that the men of the house had 
been partisans of Ezzelino. Here, however, was 
a woman in trouble, hardly a servant by the accents 
of her grief, and although her husband or father 
or brothers, as the case might prove, might be 
unfriendly, all the soldierly spirit within me was 
roused by what might be the unconscious call of 
a soul in distress for succor. 

I did not at the moment consider that I was 
in no position to offer aid to one in need. Weak- 
ness was appealing to strength, and I was strong. 
Every fibre of every muscle in my body rendered 
restive by the compulsory calm of the House of 
the Franciscans clamored for action, and before 
me was opportunity pleading to be embraced. 

Narrowly I scanned the wall which bulked at 
least two feet higher than I could reach. Here 
was a crevice and there a projection. In lieu 
of wings, I developed an undreamed of agility, 
and a grotesque figure I must have cut, girdle- 
cord dangling, robe flapping, and cowl ashake, 
as I topped the barrier. Descrying what appeared 
to be the soft earth of a flower-bed, I did not 
lower myself from the crest of the wall but leaped, 
and if my appearance had been extraordinary be- 
fore it was little less than fantastic now, for the 
air caught the skirts of my robe as I sprang, and 
out they bellied like the pinions of some huge 


86 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 

bird. As I landed my cowl flew back, and coinci- 
dent with my contact with the ground I heard 
a stifled scream. 

Recovering myself from my precipitate flight 
from the wall crest I beheld hard by, in the arched 
entrance of a laurel arbor, a maiden refinedly 
fair of feature, delicately and richly garbed, upon 
whose sweet face both grief and terror were writ, 
— grief for some unknown cause, terror at sight 
of me. 

I hastened to re-assure her. 

“ I trust, Madonna,” I said hurriedly, “ that 
you will find pardon in your heart for my bold 
intrusion upon your sorrow. I was walking in 
meditation along the path beyond the wall, and 
was moved to thrust myself into your presence 
by the sound of your sobs. Having known trouble 
myself, I was impelled by a fellow-feeling to act 
as I did. Forgive my presumption, I beg you, 
and tell me if there is any manner in which I 
can serve you.” 

The color flushed into her cheeks as I proceeded. 
Her eyes, deep blue they were like still water under 
a cloudless sky, brightened. She took a step for- 
ward. Then I recalled her, Alfrieda Deslemaini, 
youngest child and only daughter of the family, 
a girl approaching maidenhood when I had left 
Padua, now a woman of beauty and, as she stood 
there confronting me, of pathetic charm. 

“ Holy father,” she began, but I interrupted 
her. 


ENTER BEAUTY IN DISTRESS 87 


“ Nay !” I exclaimed, “ with you there shall be 
no deceit. I am no friar!” 

She gazed at me in questioning astonishment. 
A last ray of the ruddy afterglow slipped through 
the pleached branches, and gave to the fair gold 
of her hair a rich oriental tinge. She was a 
sight to stir a man’s blood, to move him to heroic 
deeds. 

I was no gallant, lisping madrigals and thrum- 
ming upon a lute, and I never had been. But 
neither was I blind to loveliness in woman though 
my heart had never been strongly touched by 
what the sentimental are pleased to term the divine 
passion. Indeed a soldier has little time for love, 
and before my martial days other matters had 
engrossed me. A younger son had best be giv- 
ing his attention to affairs more serious than amor- 
ous philandering though there be a considerable 
store of gold in the family coffers. 

Yes, I had never been blind to loveliness, and 
before me I beheld it personified. 

“Who, then? what, then? — ” she hesitated, 
scanning my garb in wonderment. 

“ Not even a lay brother,” I interrupted. “ 4 Tis 
but a disguise,” I continued, indicating my ap- 
parel. “I am a hunted man, but my misfortunes 
have not broken my spirit, and if you will confide 
in me it may be that I can be of service to you, pro- 
vided your sorrow be not of too personal and pri- 
vate a nature.” 

She looked at me long and searchingly, seeming 
to weigh me in the balance. 


88 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


“ You are a hunted man, you say,” she cried 
out at length, in a poignant tone that moved me 
deeply. “ If this be true, and I believe that it 
is, Messere, I know not what such an one can 
do for a maiden in my most lamentable case, yet 
I have no confidant, no adviser, no friend, and 
I am moved to unfold my heart to you. Will 
you sit with me under the screen of this arbor?” 
indicating the clipped laurels from beneath which 
she had emerged. “ Here we cannot be spied upon, 
and for half an hour my absence from the villa 
yonder will not be noted.” 

I bowed my head in assent, and followed her 
to a stone seat beneath the laurels. 


CHAPTER X 
AN OLD CAMPAIGNER 

“If you are a Paduan, Messere,” she began, 
without preamble, “ and I take it you are from 
what you have said, — there is, moreover, a certain 
familiar something about your face, — you will 
know my family, the Deslemaini, from hearsay, 
if you are not personally acquainted with any of 
its members.” 

“ I formerly had the honor of being on speak- 
ing terms with your father and your brothers,” 
said I, not thinking best, at least at that moment, 
to reveal my identity. 

“ You are aware, then,” she continued, “ that 
we have, in the past, been upon a friendly foot- 
ing with the Master of Padua and the Mark. 
Of late, however, there have been certain differ- 
ences between Ezzelino and ourselves — am I re- 
hearsing that of which you are already cognizant, 
Messere?” 

“ Nay !” I answered. “ I am but very recently 
returned to Padua after a long absence, and am 
a stranger to much that is going forward.” 

“ These differences culminated a few days since,” 
she proceeded, “ when the Lord of the City 
demanded my hand in marriage.” 

“ Your hand in marriage!” I echoed, in amazed 
horror, starting up and taking an agitated turn 

89 


90 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


about the arbor, rendered for a space speechless 
by the awfulness of the thought. 

“ My father refused peremptorily, without con- 
sulting me, and yesterday he, my mother and my 
brothers were seized and borne away to prison, 
while I was transported hither, my attendants dis- 
missed, and some of Ezzelino’s personal servants 
sent to take charge of me. I have been told, 
moreover, that whether I will or no the Lord of 
the City proposes to have the nuptials celebrated 
very shortly, and that my attitude in the matter 
will in no degree effect the fate of the other 
members of the family who, he affirms, have 
forfeited every consideration by their opposition 
to recent policies and their unwillingness to sanction 
the union of the two families.” 

Beneath the level monotone of her narrative, 
back of the even manner in which she related 
the dread facts, — so perfect was her control of 
her emotion, — I could detect a supreme grief and 
an unspeakable fear. 

“ My mother may not perish, Messere,” she 
said, “ but my father and brothers will, if they 
have not already met some cruel end, and should 
death not find me before my marriage hour, I 
shall certainly seek his presence then. Never, 
never, will I be the bride of that monster.” 

“ The great God forbid !” said I, beneath my 
breath. 

Almost super-earthly beautiful in her calm pal- 
lor she seemed when she made this last statement. 


AN OLD CAMPAIGNER 


91 


and could I blame her for welcoming the arms of 
death rather than yield herself to those of the 
Vicar? Nay, not I! 

I mused several moments before replying, watch- 
ing with a grievous tightening about my heart 
the suffering so plainly written upon her lovely 
features. 

“ May there not be another deliverance from 
your sorrowful dilemma save the dark one which 
you have suggested, Madonna?” said I, pitching 
my voice in a persuasive key. 

“ I have done with hope,” she replied, in a tone 
devoid of feeling. “ There is naught left for 
which to live. Yet to perish by — ” She lifted 
with pathetic grace her slender hands, gazed at 
them an instant mournfully, then let them drop 
to her side. A tear stole down her cheek. 

“ I shall do it !” she cried, with sudden deter- 
mination, “ unless — ” 

She raised her eyes, and they met mine in 
questioning appeal. 

Nay, after all, hope was not wholly quenched, 
though the flame burned low. It was mine to 
feed the feeble fire. 

“ I have a friend,” I said, speaking now with 
swift eagerness, “ who has wrought many things 
in Padua and elsewhere. His words of promise 
to me not long since lifted me out of the depths. 
His willingness to aid those in trouble is infinite, 
and his power is not small. I will go to him this 
very hour, and together we may be able to compass 
your deliverance.” 


92 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


Although she shook her head, as though in 
unbelief, I could see a delicate flush begin to steal 
upward toward her brow. 

“ What possible strength can there be,” she 
questioned, “sufficient to cope with that which 
has destroyed all that I love, the evil force that 
now holds me in its relentless grasp?” 

“ My friend,” I replied, “ is the Fra Salimbene. 
You must, I think, have heard of him.” 

“ The eloquent friar? Yes, a wonderful man, 
it is said, but — ” 

“ He would bid you have faith, that is the 
preacher’s attitude. I will ask you to have hope, 
that is the soldier’s word. May I come to you 
again tomorrow at this hour?” 

“Yes, you may come; it is the one time of the 
day that I am left to myself,” she answered un- 
hesitatingly. “ How good you are to me, Messere ! 
How good you are to me, a stranger! Though 
I know you not, you have my complete confidence, 
and although naught should result from your 
endeavors, and I should step out into the dark- 
ness, in my last prayers I shall remember you.” 

“ Courage !” cried I, possessing myself of one 
of her hands, “ courage !” and with that I would 
have taken my departure. 

“ If — if the worst should happen,” said she, 
detaining me, “ and I should never speak with you 
again, may I not take with me the name of the 
one who has been so knightly — so generous?” 

“ Though I must hide my name from others,” 
I answered, “ I have no reason to conceal it from 
you. I am Tiso Camposanpiero.” 


AN OLD CAMPAIGNER 


93 


Now I had both her hands in mine. 

“ Oh, I remember you now !” she cried, and she 
glanced about in quick apprehension. “ Ah, I 
understand it all! And we are kinsfolk, are we 
not, if not nearly related? And we are to be 
friends, are we not, though our fathers did not 
view matters alike, is it not so, Messer Campo- 
sanpiero?” 

“ I hope to give you further proof of my friend- 
ship, Madonna Alfrieda.” 

“ God is indeed kind, and only an hour since 
I thought He and all the saints had deserted me. 
Yes, I will be courageous. But you will make 
haste in whatever you do, will you not, for I 
cannot say what day will bring news of that of 
which I live in terror!” 

Her whole demeanor had changed. It was not 
in vain that I had fed the fires of hope. 

“At this hour to-morrow, then,” I said, pre- 
paring to depart, “ I will give three sharp taps 
upon the garden wall without. Do you answer 
from within.” 

“ I will ! I will !” she cried, “ and God speed 
you in your efforts.” 

In another moment I was hurrying back to 
the House of the Franciscans along the path by 
the river branch. What would Fra Salimbene 
have to say in regard to that to which I had 
committed myself? Demur he might at first, but 
I was confident that in the end I should win him 
over. Refuse to lend aid to so noble and sweet 
a maid in such a dire predicament? Not he! 


94 THE VICAR OE THE MARCHES 

Indeed I was sure, if need be, he would hasten 
the hour of his leaving Padua, whatever the 
demands upon him, if by so doing he could deliver 
Madonna Alfrieda from Ezzelino’s toils. 

Dusk swooped swiftly upon the city. There 
being no one in sight, I gathered up the skirts 
of my robe, and scurried in most unfriar-like 
fashion along the winding laneway toward my 
haven of refuge. As I approached it, there was 
a forking of the passage, and it struck me that 
there could be no possible harm, the light being 
so dim, in following the shorter route which led 
across the Via Santo and past the more com- 
pleted side of the church of San Antonio. 

I had crossed the street, and was making for 
the corner of the sacred / structure when there 
came limping toward me full in the course which 
I was pursuing the great hulking figure of a man. 
As I changed my direction slightly to avoid him, 
a familiar something in his mien arrested my at- 
tention. His hat was slouched over a face grizzled 
with a beard of many days’ growth. His accou- 
trement, nondescript in its make-up, save that he 
trailed a sword, was shabby in the extreme, and 
I believe I should have let him go by unsaluted in 
spite of the indefinable something about him that 
had taken my eye, had he not, when we were 
abreast, raised his head a trifle and shot a side- 
long look at me. 

Could I be mistaken? Impossible! It was cer- 
tainly Berthold the Suabian, the Great Arm of my 


AN OLD CAMPAIGNER 


95 


boyhood’s adventure at Fonte and in the castle 
of Ezzelino at Bassano, he who had left the Vicar 
and taken service with my father. He it was 
who had been my mentor in all martial matters, 
who had ever been deeply attached to me, who 
had vainly pleaded with gruff persistence to be 
allowed to accompany me when I had set out to 
seek my fortune in the East. 

I halted abruptly. There were other wayfarers, 
so I needs must speak softly. 

44 Berthold !” said I. 

He paused and wheeled about with amazing 
suddenness, drew himself erect, and took a step 
toward me. 

44 What friar are you,” he demanded, dropping 
his voice to a level with mine, 44 who calls me 
Berthold?” 

I gave a little laugh which he must have fancied 
he recognized, for he sidled nearer, caught me by 
the arm and peered under my cowl. 

44 By God !” he exclaimed beneath his breath, 
44 but it’s Messer Tiso !” 

44 It’s none other, Berthold !” said I. 

He gave a great sigh of joy, for this man loved 
me. 

44 1 have lingered in this accursed town in the 
blind hope of seeing you, if you returned, and be- 
ing of some use, and here you are! We must 
talk. I will lead, and do you stray after, but 
not too closely. No one will remark your friar’s 
gown in the place to which I shall conduct you.” 


96 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


And so I turned my back on the church of San 
Antonio and the House of the Franciscans, for 
between Berthold and myself there was much to 
be said. 

It was to a wine-shop frequented by the baser 
sort, cut-purses and throat-slitters and alley- 
thieves, that Berthold guided me by many devious 
windings. When our destination was reached it 
proved to be quite as he had averred, no one paid 
the slightest heed to my friar’s garb, and we secured 
a little table in one corner of the illy lit cellar- 
room where we could converse wholly as we willed. 

The drawer, than whom I have never beheld 
a more miserable specimen of humanity, served 
us with a wine whose quality was vastly above our 
surroundings, and over our brimming tankards 
we exchanged confidences. 

“ If it please you, Messer Tiso,” Berthold said, 
when we had pledged each other as friends and 
not as master and servitor, “ I should like to hear 
your tale first.” 

And so I gave him his wish, omitting nothing, 
not even my interview with, and promise to, Al- 
frieda Deslemaini. 

“We are well encountered,” he said, when I had 
concluded, “for I think I can be of service, and 
you cannot now refuse to let me accompany you 
as you did three years ago.” 

“ That, as you know, was only because I was 
aware that my father needed you,” said I. 

“ Of precious little avail was I at the last !” 


AN OLD CAMPAIGNER 


97 


he exclaimed sadly, “ after your father had left 
Fonte, and put his head into the mouth of the 
monster here in Padua ! What could a dozen stout 
arms do against hundreds? I am alive only be- 
cause I had friends among the Germans who came 
to force your father’s surrender. They refused 
to cut me down, and turned me loose into the 
streets which I have since haunted on the chance 
of meeting you, for I supposed sooner or later 
you would appear, just as you have done. I am 
a trifle lame from a wound received at the palace, 
but my arm is sound, Messer Tiso, and my heart, 
— but of that I will not speak. You can com- 
mand me, indeed you must command me for you 
are the head of the Camposanpieresi, and I will 
not alter my allegiance.” 

“ So I cannot get rid of you, even should I 
wish to, that is the idea, is it?” said I, with a 
grave smile. 

“ Put it as you will,” he answered, with a shrug 
of his great shoulders. 

Presently we quitted the place, and trudged 
side by side through the darkness to the door 
of the House of the Franciscans. 

“ I shall look for you to-morrow at the same 
place where we met to-day, and at the same hour,” 
I said, as we parted. 

“ It is well,” he replied. “ I shall be there.” 

Then I mounted the stairs to the room where 
I knew Fra Salimbene was awaiting me. 


CHAPTER XI 

THE TWO BROTHERS OF MONSELICE 


There was a wry expression of disapproval on 
the friar’s kindly face when I entered the apart- 
ment which we shared. Glancing up from his 
breviary, he shook his head half sorrowfully, half 
indignantly. 

44 Why must you take the risk?” he demanded. 
44 I have been upon the very coals of anxiety, 
suffering martyrdom.” 

44 I am aware that I owe you apologies,” said 
I, 44 many of them. Will you accept them, and 
then hearken? Much has happened.” 

He nodded, only half appeased. 

44 It may have been folly at the outset,” I 
acknowledged, 44 but the call of the sky and the 
open air was imperative, and, as it has resulted, 
I think you will admit that it is fortunate I gave 
heed.” 

44 Well,” he cried impatiently, 44 1 am listening.” 

Beneath his abrupt utterance I noted that his 
good humor was restored, and so proceeded to the 
relation of my evening’s adventures. When I had 
concluded he was gazing at me fixedly. 

44 1 was wrong,” he declared at length, 44 to 
show my displeasure. The spirit of some saint 
moved you in your outgoing, and guided your 
footsteps.” 

Then he fell to calculating. 

98 


BROTHERS OF MONSELICE 


99 


“Yes,” he continued presently, “it can and shall 
be done. Though I am persuaded that my labors 
here are of some value, I will terminate them to- 
morrow. It will be worth more to save that inno- 
cent maiden from death, or a life worse than 
death, than anything I can accomplish from the 
pulpit of San Antonio. There are Deslemaini 
in Ferrara, as mayhap you know. We can take 
her to them, or in case they do not wish to re- 
ceive her, to my niece, Suora Agnese, at the con- 
vent of Santa Lucia.” 

“You have planned it all without my urgence,” 
I cried. “You are a friend indeed!” 

“ You are to see her to-morrow evening?” he 
went on. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Bid her, then, be ready as early as possible 
on the evening following. A nun’s garb will be 
her best disguise, and I can without difficulty 
procure one for her. I will supply her, too, with 
a capable woman attendant, a worthy creature 
that I wot of. There will be no time to waste, 
and we must have everything in readiness. You 
had best bring your man-at-arms hither with you, 
and we will confer in regard to the horses. He 
can manage that matter better than I can, and 
moreover, perhaps suggest a rendezvous.” 

“ There was formerly an inn called The Tra- 
veler’s Rest just without the Porta di Santa Croce. 
I used sometimes to pause there for a stoup of 
wine in my student days when I rode forth hawk- 


100 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


“ The very place, if the tavern still stands, and 
the landlord be not a rogue.” 

“We shall have to trust Berthold to deal with 
him, and he has a very pretty faculty for manag- 
ing such folk.” 

There was more talk of a like nature before 
we sought our pallets, and then for me there was 
little slumber, although the friar was soon filling 
the narrow room with the doubtful music of his 
snores. 

It seemed to me that the hours of the following 
day would never pass. Again and yet again did 
I revert to, and rehearse mentally, my interview 
with Alfrieda Deslemaini. Was she marking off 
with eagerness akin to mine, I pondered, the 
moments to elapse before the close of day? What 
beauty was hers, what sweetness, what solemn deter- 
mination! With what complete trust had she 
placed her hands in mine! Could it be that the 
Divine Will that had scourged our spirits so sorely 
had for us in the dim and distant future some 
alleviating compensation ? The thought, like a 
flash of celestial light, leaped suddenly into my 
brain. Was it wrong to harbor it? Nay, why 
should it be? Sorrow had drawn, was drawing 
us, together. Might not out of grief and suffer- 
ing blossom the fair and fragrant flower of love? 
There had been in my life little of tenderness, 
youngest born though I had been. I had not been, 
however, a child that craved coddling and caresses. 
Sentiment in me had lain dormant, but I realized 


BROTHERS OF MONSELICE 101 


that my recent experiences had awakened in me a 
great yearning for human sympathy and affection. 

That afternoon I heard Fra Salimbene deliver 
what was to be, for a time, his last exhortation 
to the Paduans. His eloquence mounted to heights 
before unapproached. Waves of unpent emotion 
swept through the worshipping throng. I alone 
of all the listeners could understand the unre- 
strained exaltation and appeal of his benediction. 
The services had been more protracted than com- 
mon, and when I emerged from San Antonio not 
more than a double score of minutes were lack- 
ing ere my meeting hour with Madonna Alfrieda 
in the garden of Villa Deslemaini. 

“ Why,” I asked myself, “ should I return to 
mope and fret in the House of the Franciscans?” 

I would stay in the streets, and stroll in unfre- 
quented quarters. Surely a meditative friar was 
a common figure! There was no reason for my 
attracting attention nor arousing comment. I 
was moved from my purpose of seeking little 
traveled ways, however, by encountering a young 
Dominican friar just as I was about to separate 
myself from the multitude in the Via Santo. We 
had walked a few paces abreast when he addressed 
me 

“ I heard it whispered this morning,” he said, 
“ that there would be a pronouncement of j udg- 
ment just before sundown in the Piazza Torri- 
celle. Did such a rumor reach your ears?” 

“ Nay,” I returned, “ I am ignorant of any 


102 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


such proposed official function. Will the Podesta 
preside? And why the publicity?” 

He drew closer to me, and lowered his voice. 

44 As I had it,” he averred, 44 the city’s master 
will be there in person, and the reason for this 
is a wish further to overawe the people. You 
are aware what extreme measures have been taken 
of late to fix more firmly the Vicar’s rule? It is 
now bruited abroad that the Deslemaini have been 
executed in prison.” 

Alfreida’s fears, then, in regard to the fate of 
her father and brothers were proving but too 
well founded. All the burning lust for vengeance 
which I had put down in my heart under the soften- 
ing influence of Fra Salimbene leaped up again 
on the instant. I began to shiver, and felt my 
fingers twitching beneath the sleeves of my robe. 

44 If your way lies in the direction of the Piazza 
Torricelle,” said I, 44 with your permission I will 
accompany you.” 

What inspired me to this proposal I cannot say, 
unless it was the murderous impulse of the night 
of my arrival for the moment mastering me again. 
In any event, the words were hardly more than 
spoken ere I regretted them, for the young Domi- 
nican immediately embraced my suggestion of com- 
panionship. 

44 Yes,” he said, 44 1 am bound thither out of 
curiosity, and would have you as a comrade most 
gladly. I am not of Padua, and would fain learn 
how galling a yoke this poor city will yet endure 
before is rises and crushes its tormentor.” 


BROTHERS OF MONSELICE 103 


These were bold words to be uttered on a public 
highway, and my suprised look was not lost on 
the young friar. 

“ No, I have no apprehension,” he remarked, as 
though I had commented on his temerity. 
“ Messer Ezzelino knows where to stop. He will 
not assail the church, at least in the person of 
its humble members like ourselves. He is very 
sensible of the hostile attitude of Rome, although 
he may make a great pretense of indifference.” 

I was not conversant with the affairs of state 
into which my companion seemed inclined to plunge, 
and consequently was silent. 

Little swirls and eddies of folk from side lanes 
and passages were constantly joining the main 
stream with which we were being swept on, and 
when we gained the entrance to the piazza we 
were but two buffeted atoms in a swaying and 
jostling press. 

“ See !” exclaimed the young Dominican, clutch- 
ing my arm, and pointing, “ yonder are some 
steps which are unoccupied! They will afford us 
an excellent view of whatever is to take place.” 

By dint of strenuous pushing — my companion’s 
shoulders were as broad as mine — we succeeded 
in clearing an opening to the spot indicated where 
we established ourselves. Though we were speedily 
hemmed in by others, we had possessed ourselves 
of the most desirable vantage point, and were likely 
to miss nothing of the anticipated spectacle. 

It is not a large square, the Piazza Torricelle, 


104 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


long rather than broad, and almost directly oppo- 
site where we were standing a platform for the 
city dignitaries had been erected. A dense mass 
of humanity packed the intervening space above 
whose heads we now gazed, marking a backward 
ripple that swelled to a wave where a party of 
the city guardsmen were clearing a path for those 
who trod in their wake. Finally, in the rear, 
marched a company of German mercenaires. 

Ezzelino da Romano was the first to mount the 
platform, Ansedisio, the Podesta, hard at his heels. 
Then followed a group of the city guards conduct- 
ing those upon whom judgment was to be pro- 
nounced, six men, all of them in chains. The 
hirelings spread themselves below, and began forc- 
ing back the citizens from immediate proximity 
to the raised structure whereat sullen murmurs 
were lifted here and there, spasmodic and yet 
ominous. 

On a small dais, covered with a suggestively 
red fabric, Ezzelino and the Podesta were seated. 
A herald announced the names of those who were 
manacled, and the offence each had committed. 
Then, one by one, they were bidden to stand forth 
and receive sentence. 

First was summoned a noble Veronese whose 
crime was conspiracy. He was condemned to the 
scaffold, Ezzelino himself announcing the captive’s 
fate in his high, penetrating voice which cleft like 
a piercing instrument note through the hush. 
Next a rich burgher of Vincenza was commanded 


BROTHERS OF MONSELICE 105 


to step forward. He was accused of eluding his 
just share of a war-tax, and was told that torture 
was in store for him. 

Then two brothers of Monselice were called to 
face their judge. Their fault, it appeared, was 
that of uttering treasonous language. 

“ Monte and Arnaldo da Monselice !” thus the 
herald nominated them, and they appeared, one 
standing, as commanded, a few paces in the back- 
ground. Powerful men they were, he who stepped 
to the fore wearing his shackles as though they 
were as light as ornaments. Both held their heads 
high, gazing straight at their persecutor and 
judge. 

“ Traitors ! Traitors !” cried Ezzelino, spring- 
ing to his feet, his tone rising to the pitch of 
frenzy. “Traitors should not have tongues ! They 
shall be torn out!” 

“ Lordship,” we could hear one of the brothers 
protest, “ we have been faithful to you always. 
We have been basely slandered. We are innocent !” 

“ Innocent !” echoed the Vicar, with his mirth- 
less laugh, “ as innocent as babes, I suppose. Well, 
you shall prattle no more !” 

At this cruel taunt, Monte, the more massive of 
the brothers, sprang at the tyrant raging above 
him. Out went his huge manacled arms, and be- 
neath their force Ezzelino, stationed although he 
was considerably higher than his assailant, was 
felled to the floor of the dais. Struggling and 
screaming for aid, the Lord of Padua managed 


106 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


to thrust off his handicapped attacker, and par- 
tially regained his feet only to be beaten down 
again by the infuriated man from Monselice who 
belabored him with his chains, tore, like a wild 
animal, at the tyrant’s throat with his teeth, dug 
at his vitals with his elbows, and only desisted 
when he had been hacked and hewed out of all 
mortal semblance by the swords of the city guards. 
Arnaldo, in striving to assist his brother, shared 
his ghastly fate. 

For a moment the platform was a mad chaos 
of whirling arms, twisting legs and swinging 
swords, a writhing mass whence issued shrieks, 
curses, and fierce inarticulate cries. Then at the 
very instant when I was glorying in the monster’s 
tragic death out of the gory tangle he emerged, 
supported by Ansedisio, his clothing half rent from 
his body, his countenance disfigured and distorted, 
yet with a baleful fire still burning in his eyes 
which told that his evil star had not yet been 
quenched. 

While shouts and cheers and groans went up 
from the seething multitude, I contrived to slip 
from my post of observation, and sped away to- 
ward the villa garden of the Deslamaini. 


CHAPTER XII 


IN THE GARDEN OF THE VILLA 
DESLEMAINI 

It was at no mean pace that I fled from the 
Piazza Torrecelle, yet by some unaccountable 
magic the news of the violent attempt upon the 
life of Ezzelino had outfooted me, and no atten- 
tion was paid to my undignified haste. If any 
one gave me a thought it was doubtless to con- 
jecture that I was hurrying to the side of some 
dying wretch to grant him absolution. Toward 
the square which I had quitted a surging flood 
was setting, and to escape its billows I was forced 
to make a detour and approach the Villa Desle- 
maini from a direction opposite to that by which 
I had reached it the previous evening. This led 
me past the villa entrance, a high iron gateway 
which was closely barred. The windows of the 
pleasure-house were tightly shuttered, and appre- 
hension seized me lest during the hours which 
had elapsed since our meeting Madonna Alfrieda 
had been removed to another place of confine- 
ment. 

With no little anxiety I sounded the signal 
agreed upon, and a thrill of happiness shot through 
my breast when it was speedily answered. With 
a hasty glance up and down the path to make 
sure that I was unobserved, I mounted the wall* 
as I had done before, and dropped into the garden. 

107 


108 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


There was Madonna Alfrieda, flushed and eager, 
and we lost no time in seeking the kindly conceal- 
ment of the laurel arbor. 

“ You have good tidings for me, kinsman Tiso!” 
she exclaimed, 44 1 can read the fact upon your 
face.” 

Good tidings I had indeed, but it was largely 
the pleasure I took in seeing her again (though 
I did not confess it to her) that made my counte- 
nance so eloquent. Good tidings, did I say? 
Ah, but what of the rumored fate of her father 
and brothers communicated to me by the young 
Dominican? That must be, for the present at 
least, withheld from her. 

44 Yes,” I answered, “Fra Salimbene is a friend 
among a thousand, and has suggested a plan which 
will, I firmly believe, work both your deliverance 
and my safety.” 

Then I unfolded the scheme which the worthy 
friar had proposed. 

44 Oh,” she cried when I had finished, 44 there are 
no words by which I can thank you and him !” 

44 Nay,” I said, 44 speak not of thanks ! I were 
the veriest craven, and he most unpriestly, were 
we not ready to serve you to the last breath, and 
you will find, too, in my good follower Berthold 
an ardent defender.” 

Across the elation she felt over her prospective 
escape fell the shadow of the dread ever present 
with her in regard to her family. Her lip quivered. 

“My father! my mother! my brothers!” she 


THE VILLA DESLEMAINI 


109 


murmured, “ I am wicked to leave them, to be 
thus wrapt up in what threatens me, in the means 
of eluding my own peril!” 

“ Would they have you remain could they 
counsel you?” I asked, with eager vehemence. 
“ Were it possible for you to be of any aid to 
them if you stayed, the case would be different.” 

“What you say is quite true,” she assented 
mournfully. “ I will be ready. I can easily slip 
the nun’s dress over the gown I am now wear- 
ing. But how am I to gain egress from the 
garden? I have not your agility” — her mood 
quickly changed to one of charming playfulness 
— “and of course escape by the villa gate is not 
to be considered.” 

“We shall contrive somehow,” I promised. “ I 
will suggest to the good Berthold that he pro- 
cure a ladder of rope,” I added, measuring the 
height of the wall with my eye. 

So we bade each other adieu, with renewed 
assurances on my part, and a half smiling, half 
mournful agreement on hers that she would be 
awaiting my coming on the morrow. I found 
Berthold strolling in the Via Santo, as I had 
suggested that he be doing, and together we re- 
paired to the presence of Fra Salimbene. The 
friar and soldier fell, with small preamble of 
explanation, to perfecting an arrangement for 
departure from the city on the succeeding night. 
The sturdy Suabian agreed with me that the Tra- 
veler’s Rest, which he recalled was still in existence, 


110 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


would be a capital place for a rendezvous, and 
guaranteed that, with the aid of the funds which 
I was able to provide (I had returned from the 
East by no means impecunious), he would have 
five excellent animals equipped for mounting in 
the inn stable-yard at the next sunset hour. 

Having added to Berthold’s commission the 
purchase of a ladder of rope, I dismissed him, and 
then, as the morrow was likely to prove a busy 
one for Fra Salimbene, he and I began discuss- 
ing just what course we were to pursue in effect- 
ing the rescue of Madonna Alfrieda. The nun’s 
disguise the friar had already obtained; he had 
likewise arranged with a hardy peasant woman 
to be the maiden’s companion, and had only to 
acquaint this person with the place and hour of 
meeting. 

We finally agreed that we should repair to- 
gether to the villa garden, and that while I as 
formerly, adventured within, the friar, as a matter 
of safeguard, should remain to watch without lest 
flight over the wall be undertaken at an inoppor- 
tune moment. Although it had been my good 
fortune to encounter no wayfarers upon the path 
by the river branch, a loiterer might chance to 
be passing, and it was well to provide for a warn- 
ing in case of such a contingency. 

At last the hour for bidding farewell to the 
House of the Franciscans arrived. We had al- 
ready dispatched such belongings as we deemed 
absolutely necessary to the Traveler’s Rest, and 


THE VILLA DESLEMAINI 


111 


with the bundle containing Alfrieda’s disguise and 
the rope ladder supplied by Berthold under my 
arm, I accompanied Fra Salimbene down the stair- 
way, and into the early evening air. I must 
acknowledge that my heart-beats quickened as we 
struck into the laneway leading to the branch of 
the Bacchiglione. Seasoned campaigner that I 
was, here was a risk afoot in the like of which 
I had never engaged. Responsibility and hazard 
I had often taken, but they had always rested 
lightly upon my spirits. I was far from being 
depressed now, but I was fully alive to the serious- 
ness of what we were attempting. To foil the 
intentions of Ezzelino da Romano was no light 
thing, particularly in a matter that touched him 
so closely as did this. Failure meant doom in 
one form or another for each one of us, but 
failure had no place in my thoughts. 

We gained the rippling river water, and found 
no footfarer upon the path. 

“Bravo!” cried I, “Lady Fortune favors us!” 

“ It were better to put our trust in the Virgin 
rather than in all the combined deities of ancient 
heathendom!” rebuked the friar. 

Hastening to the spot where I had twice scaled 
the villa garden wall, I tapped sharply. Intently 
we hearkened for an answering sound, but none 
was heard, there was only the noise of the gurgling 
stream and a low leaf rustle. 

“We may be a trifle early,” I said, the shadow 
of disappointment clouding my face. 


112 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


The friar made no response, yet I could detect 
from the occasional anxious look which he cast 
up and down the path that he was disturbed. 

“ Tap again !” he said presently. 

I did so, but still there was no answer. After 
a space I gave the signal agreed upon the third 
time, and in vain. 

“What can have happened?” I demanded. 

Fra Salimbene shook his head. 

“ I will go within the garden,” I decided at 
length, “ approach the house, and discover if it 
seems deserted.” 

I handed the bundle containing the nun’s dress 
and rope ladder to my companion, and in spite 
of his efforts to persuade me to delay a little, 
topped the wall, and gained the enclosure. The 
arbor was deserted as were the walks leading to- 
ward the villa. Along one of these, bordered by 
roses thick set between ilex boles, I ran on tiptoe, 
and had nearly reached a bend which would have 
disclosed the villa itself when I became aware that 
some one was hastening in my direction. 

I sprang behind a rose clump, and peered intently 
between the the leaves. Then my heart gave a 
great bound of exultation for Alfrieda appeared 
speeding breathlessly, her eyes bright, her lips 
parted, her draperies streaming out behind her 
as she put forth every effort in her flight. I 
stepped into view at once so that she might not 
be alarmed on beholding me suddenly, waited until 
she gained my side, then caught her hand, and 
onward we raced together. 


THE VILLA DESLEMAINI 


113 


“ I was just starting to meet you,” she panted, 
when Messer Ansedisio, the Podesta, was an- 
nounced. I was on the watch at the stair-head, 
and heard him tell Ser Petronio who has charge 
of the villa that the wedding would be the day 
after to-morrow. He bade him call me, in peremp- 
tory fashion, as he wished to announce the good 
news to me himself. How hatefully he laughed 
when he said this, the detestable creature! I con- 
cealed myself in a closet, and neither Ser Pertronio 
nor his wife discovered me. Messer Ansedisio, 
growing impatient, went up to aid them in their 
search, then I slipped down and out. They may 
be even now hard after me. What shall we do if 
they should follow?” 

“We will manage in some way to evade them,” 
I answered, though I could but wonder in what 
manner we should compass it. 

Leaving Alfrieda in the laurel arbor, I bounded 
to the wall and called to Fra Salimbene, — 

“The bundle, my friend! She has come at 
last!” 

An instant later I had the nun’s dress and the 
rope ladder in my hand. Springing back to the 
arbor I gave the disguise to Alfrieda, and then 
returned to the barrier to affix the ladder to its 
crest. I had just completed this task when upon 
the gravel of the pathway from the villa sounded 
the hurried and harsh crunch of footfalls. There 
was no opportunity for concealment. Indeed 
hardly had I time to loosen my girdle, whip out 


114 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


my sword, and toss back my hood so that my 
sight should be in no wise obscured, when forth 
from the rose and ilex alley charged two men, 
Ansedisio leading. 

“ She must be in the garden,” the second was 
saying, and then simultaneously they spied me. 

“ Whom have we here?” cried Ansedisio, plung- 
ing toward me, drawing his blade as he ran. “ A 
friar, and armed!” 

Scant of breath and mottle-faced at his back 
labored a hulking fellow whom I took to be Al- 
frieda’s gaoler. He swung an ugly cudgel the 
sight of which made me uneasy. 

A few paces from where I stood, my back set 
against the wall, they paused while Ansedisio 
scanned me intently. 

“Ah,” cried he, after an instant’s scrutiny, an 
evil smile lifting one corner of his mouth, “ I 
am indeed fortunate! This time, my friend Tiso, 
I know you, and I opine that the young lady of 
whom we are in search is not far away. How 
romantic it all is ! I am sorry indeed to be obliged 
to interfere. But duty — stern duty — bids me ! Will 
you put down your sword, or must I, with the 
aid of the worthy Ser Petronio here, use a little 
persuasion more potent than the argument of 
words ?” 

To bandy speech was wholly useless, so I re- 
mained silent, watching them both guardedly. 

Ansedisio indulged in a hearty laugh. 

“A friar!” he cried, “well, upon my word, it 


THE VILLA DESLEMAINI 


115 


has been very clever of you! But we have come 
to the prelude of the last act of the play, friend 
Tiso, an act which is likely to draw to a speedy 
close, for my uncle is far from being in a good 
humor. Once again, will you yield your sword? 
No? Really, I regret to cause you pain! You will 
have enough of that to endure later on. My uncle 
will have his little sport, as you are aware, being 
a Camposanpieresi ! Now, Petronio, whilst I en- 
gage the gentleman, do you rush in upon him and 
administer one of your wholesome taps. Be not 
too gentle, for some friars are thick-headed!” 

I realized that I was likely, and that speedily, 
to be in exceedingly bad case, for Ansedisio began 
to edge around upon my left so that he might give 
his companion an opening. I hesitated to make a 
dash at the bulky Petronio, lest a blow from his 
cudgel, which I observed he wielded dexterously, 
snap my blade. So I was kept dancing, menacing 
first one and then the other, and conscious that at 
any moment the end might come. And come it did 
after the most unexpected fashion. I had at- 
tacked Ansedisio for an instant, when Alfrieda, 
now garbed as a nun, having apparently just taken 
in my predicament, rushed from the arbor with a 
cry of alarm. 

The Podesta’s eye was for a second diverted, 
but that was long enough for me to slip by his 
guard, rip open the doublet sleeve of his sword 
arm, and inflict a wound that caused him to drop 
his weapon. Wheeling about to meet Ser Petronio 


116 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


who, I expected, was slinking upon me with raised 
cudgel, I was just in time to behold Fra Salimbene 
(who had heard sounds of the struggle and man- 
aged to scramble to the wall top) descending upon 
him like a falcon on its prey. Amazed beyond 
measure, and not a little terrified, Alfrieda’s 
clumsy gaoler was borne to the earth, his frantic 
screams practically muffled by the friar’s envelop- 
ing robe. 

“I believe,” I remarked to Ansedisio, who was 
clutching his wounded arm, “that the play is not 
ended yet, and that your amiable uncle will be 
obliged to forego his sport, at least to-night.” 

The Podesta made a hateful grimace, cursing 
me thickly beneath his breath. 

Noting that my spry friend Salimbene had 
completely subdued Ser Petronio, I called to Al- 
frieda who was regarding the scene with interest 
from a point not far distant. 

“We need your kindly offices, Madonna,” said I. 
“His Lordship, the Podesta, has dropped his 
sword, and I foresee that we are likely to have use 
for some rope. The ladder yonder is considerably 
too long. Do you not think that you could 
shorten it with Messer Ansedisio’s blade?” 

The girl made haste to carry out my suggestion, 
and again the Podesta cursed me, being heartily 
joined in this instance by Ser Petronio upon 
whose recumbent form Fra Salimbene was sitting 
somewhat heavily. 

It did not take long to truss the twain securely, 


THE VILLA DESLEMAINI 117 

gag them with strips of their own garments, and 
bear them to the laurel arbor. 

I would not leave Ansedisio without binding 
up his wound, but when I had accomplished this 
I could not refrain from remarking, as I left 
him, — 

“I wish you a pleasant rest, Messer Podesta !” 


CHAPTER XIII 
OUT OF PADUA 

Beneath the wall we paused a space for confer- 
ence. 

“Tell me, Madonna,” said Fra Salimbene, tak- 
ing the initiative, “are other men beside Ser Pe- 
tronio employed yonder at the villa?” 

“None,” Alfrieda answered. “He, his wife, 
three maids and myself have been its sole occu- 
pants. There have been working men about the 
grounds, but never later than mid-afternoon. 

“Good!” cried the friar. “Most excellent! I 
think instead of making our exit by the rope lad- 
der here, we may as well abandon that, and depart 
decorously by the gate. If we encounter Ser Pe- 
tronio’s spouse, I fancy we can persuade her not 
to raise an alarm, and can contrive to satisfy her 
in regard to the whereabouts of her husband and 
their exalted caller.” 

I did not deem it worth while to question what 
was working in Fra Salimbene’s mind, but con- 
tented myself with walking by Alfrieda’s side, she 
looking vastly pretty in her nun’s garb. As we 
approached the villa I noticed that she became 
agitated and apprehensive, and inquired the cause. 

“Donna Maria, Ser Petronio’s wife, is nothing 
short of a virago,” she confided to me. “I fear 
you may have some trouble with her if she sus- 
pects that anything has gone amiss.” 

118 


OUT OF PADUA 


119 


“I infer that she has charge of the villa keys,” 
said the friar, smiling to himself. 

“Yes, all save the great key to the outer gate 
she generally carries about with her. That, on ac- 
count of its size, is left within the gate itself.” 

“Better and better!” exclaimed Fra Salimbene. 
“Should we encounter this redoubtable person our 
manner of dealing with her must be left to inspi- 
ration. Ah,” he added, pointing to a branching 
pathway, “let us see if this will not lead us to the 
entrance to the garden.” 

Winding between great banks of rhododendrons, 
we erelong emerged in an open space before the 
villa. No one was within sight, but we heard a 
strident voice reiterating some inquiry within. 

“Either you, Madonna, or Ser Petronio, ap- 
pears to be much in demand,” observed Fra Salim- 
bene. “Suppose, Tiso, you and Madonna Alfri- 
eda proceed to the gate, which you might unlock. 
I will try my powers of persuasion, which are 
sometimes effective, upon the vociferous lady.” 

He moved toward the villa door, while Alfrieda 
and I started to carry out his bidding. What an 
untold relief and comfort it was to stand there, 
the massive gate unfastened, the key in my hand 
and the knowledge in my heart that only one more 
gate — and that the city’s — reared itself between 
the maiden at my side and her freedom! In such 
worshipful wise did I find myself gazing into her 
eyes that I suddenly realized she was blushing, 
and that divinely. 


120 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


Whilst I was making some stammering apology 
the friar was ascending the villa steps. Ere he 
had a chance to sound a summons the door was 
thrown open, and the aperture filled by a tall 
woman with a masculine cast of features who, on 
beholding the friar, started back, her mouth 
agape. Her angle of vision seemed not to extend 
beyond the bowing figure before her, and taking 
advantage of her bewilderment, the friar passed 
within. 

“With your permission,” we heard him say, as 
he closed the door. 

“What can he mean to do?” queried Alfrieda. 

“I am as much in the dark as you are,” I re- 
turned, “but rest assured, he will contrive in some 
way to render the woman harmless. I have the 
most supreme confidence in him.” 

Much as it would have rejoiced me under some 
circumstances to linger alone with the maid who 
companioned me, I began to grow impatient when 
five, then ten, minutes elapsed, and Fra Salimbene 
did not appear. Dusk was swiftly closing in, and 
I knew that in less than half an hour the Porta di 
Santa Croce would be closed. Escape from the 
city would then be practically impossible. Even 
the friar’s eloquence would be of no avail. Only 
an order from one high in authority — the Vicar or 
the Podesta — would act as an open sesame. 

At last the villa portal swung wide, and down 
the steps agilely hastened Fra Salimbene, his lips 
a-twitch with mirth. 


OUT OF PADUA 


121 


“May the holy Virgin pardon me” he ejacu- 
lated, as he came within speaking distance. 

Our countenances must have been ardent with 
interrogation, for he went on as we passed out- 
side the gate, — 

“Yonder Donna is a most superstitious woman, 
and I made a very bold play upon her weakness as 
soon as I discovered it. She believes it her duty, 
in order to secure her husband’s safe return, to 
spend the night in prayer. She has already begun 
her devotions, and I fancy is likely to continue 
them in some wise until dawn, for the door of her 
apartment is locked, and the servants warned not 
to disturb her. I dropped a hint as I was leaving 
that if the good Ser Petronio had not put in an 
appearance at daybreak, it might be advisable to 
search for him in the vicinity of a certain laurel 
arbor,” and Fra Salimbene fairly held his sides. 

Here truly was the friar in a new role, and Al- 
frieda and I joined in his mirth as I locked the 
gate of the villa behind us and cast the key into 
the waters of the Bacchiglione. 

“The precious Ser Petronio, his spouse and the 
Podesta are welcome to the use of our rope lad- 
der,” said I. “They certainly will not in a hurry 
fare forth through this entrance!” 

“Hist!” cried the friar suddenly, “whom have 
we here?” 

The swift veer of his tone from jocularity to 
seriousness, from triumph to alarm, sent a chill of 
apprehension through me, which was increased 


122 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


when I saw, striding toward us through the gath- 
ering dusk, four of Ezzelino’s body-guard, the 
Saracens. 

“They are attendants of the Vicar,” said I. “If 
we face and pass them unconcernedly, it is not at 
all likely they will detain us whatever their mission 
may be. You had best drop your veil,” I added to 
Alfrieda. 

Hassan, the chief of the Saracen guards, was 
one of the four, and while his companions gave 
no heed to us, I noted that he regarded us sharply 
as we made room for them. I also observed, steal- 
ing a look over my shoulder, that the Saracens 
paused at the villa gate, and began sounding a 
summons for admission. 

Fra Salimbene was likewise cognizant of the 
pause of the guardsmen. 

“Our watchword must be ‘haste,’ ” said he, “as 
soon as he reach the corner yonder,” and he 
pointed to where an alley crossed the river branch. 

“Those men,” questioned Alfrieda, “they were 
the Vicar’s hirelings, were they not?” 

“They were,” I replied, realizing what was work- 
ing in her mind, and deeming it not wise to attempt 
any deception, “and though for some cause they 
have been sent on Ansedisio’s heels, you must not 
feel alarmed, for we will circumvent them all.” 

“Now,” I said, when we reached the alleyway, 
“your hand, Madonna, and do you take her other 
hand, Padre Mio. Let us do a little running un- 
til we near the Via Santa Croce!” 


OUT OF PADUA 


123 


So away we flew, sending our hopes, our de- 
sires, our prayers, an eager brood, ahead of us. 
Would the Porta Santa Croce be closed? And if 
so, what then? For the friar and myself there 
still might be concealment somewhere among the 
Franciscan brothers, but for Alfrieda! For her 
we knew no place of refuge. There was no re- 
ligious institution in the city into which the pitiless 
hand of the Paduan tyrant would not reach to 
pluck her forth. And who, save the members of 
some holy order, was there to befriend her? No, 
her only salvation lay beyond the walls, and our 
aid was her sole dependence! 

A sharp bend, and we were in the Via Santa 
Croce. Who were passing? A stream of peas- 
ants, and they were making toward the gate ! Ex- 
ultation mounted within my breast. Assuredly 
they would be allowed to return to their hovels 
clustered without the walls, these belated bringers 
of market produce! The gateway was in sight 
when we were halted by a stoppage of the proces- 
sion, and heard an outburst of angry words. 
From one to another ran excited exclamations. 

“The keepers refuse us egress. It is the closing 
hour. Down with them! Shall we not be per- 
mitted to go to our homes?” 

Furious murmurs arose on all sides, curses and 
open threats of violence. 

“Come!” exclaimed Fra Salimbene, and began 
elbowing his way through the throng. 

Into the opening which he made Alfrieda and I 


1U THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


diligently pressed. Soon, observing the garb we 
wore, the crowd made way for us. As we drew 
near the massive stone archway we descried three 
guardsmen holding the folk back with pikes, while 
two others were in the act of swinging shut the 
ponderous leaves of the gate. 

“Stay!” cried Fra Salimbene, thrusting aside 
a burly peasant, and confronting the pikemen, 
“who commands here?” 

Recognizing a leader, the threatening cries of 
the throng were hushed. 

“I command,” replied one of the three, lowering 
his weapon. “What would you?” 

“Exit from the city for myself, my compan- 
ions,” indicating Alfrieda and myself, “and, in- 
deed, for all these good people!” 

Although the head gateman saw he had a de- 
termined force to deal with, he was still inclined 
to be obdurate. 

“The regulations are most strict,” he demurred, 
“and the orders to carry them out stringent. 
These people know the laws, and should have been 
at their homes ere this. They are greedy for the 
last copper. Let them spend the night here in the 
street, and learn their lesson !” 

Fra Salimbene skillfully changed his point of 
attack. 

“You are a worthy officer,” said he, “but must 
we suffer,” again indicating Alfrieda and myself, 
“while you carry out the letter of the law in pun- 
ishing these folk? Yonder at the Traveler’s Rest 


OUT OF PADUA 125 

we are awaited, and it is a matter of life and 
death.” 

The officer misconstrued the friar’s meaning. 
Certainly it was very possible for him to infer that 
we were bent upon an errand of mercy, that we 
were bearing spiritual alleviation to some unfor- 
tunate soul racked upon a bed of suffering. 

He lowered his pike, and signaled to his compan- 
ions to do likewise; at the same time he bade the 
two cease in their efforts to shut the heavy gate. 

“I am not so callous,” said he, “as to withhold 
consolation from any human creature about quit- 
ting this world. We shall all need such holy min- 
istration one day. You may pass.” 

“And these good people?” queried the friar, 
making no move as yet to take advantage of the 
victory he had won. 

“Oh, they may pass, too, — this time !” 

And so, carried forward by the joyful impetus 
of that escaping flood, we were swept out of 
Padua. 


CHAPTER XIV 

INTO THE NIGHT AND STORM 

A few of the peasants paused in their home- 
ward hastening to breathe words of blessing upon 
the friar for his friendly interposition, but most of 
them betook themselves in the direction of their 
respective hovels without speech, save for mut- 
tered anathemas against the gate-keepers. By the 
time the welcome sign-board of the Traveler’s 
Rest became distinguishable the last had disap- 
peared. The main doorway of the inn was agape, 
and when we were about a dozen paces distant the 
fully accoutered bulk of Berthold filled it. He 
beamed broadly upon us. 

“You lift a great weight from my mind,” he 
said. “I began to fear that your plans might 
have miscarried. I have been dancing like an ani- 
mal of the wilds betwixt this spot and the stable- 
yard for an half hour or more.” 

“Is all in readiness?” demanded Fra Salimbene. 
“There have been some unforeseen delays which 
we will explain later.” 

“You can mount this instant,” returned Ber- 
thold. 

“The lady’s companion?” questioned the friar. 

“Awaits her, already mounted.” 

“This,” said I, indicating Alfrieda, “is the 
maiden of whom I have told you. She merits and 

126 


INTO THE NIGHT AND STORM 127 


needs your service far more than I ever have done, 
my friend.” 

Alfrieda put her small hand unhesitatingly into 
the Suabian’s huge, ungauntleted palm, and with 
her appealing smile straightway won the old 
trooper’s heart. 

“ 4 We shall be good comrades, I am sure,” she 
said. 

“All there is of me,” he exclaimed, “and that’s 
considerable, will ever be at the Madonna’s com- 
mand !” 

Close upon Berthold’s heels we hurried through 
the tavern hallway to the stable-yard where the 
host, whose obsequious greed the soldier had liber- 
ally salved, was overseeing two grooms in charge 
of the horses. Seated contentedly upon one of 
the animals was a strapping woman whom the 
friar made known to us as Grisanta, Alfrieda’s 
companion. Her face was indicative of kindli- 
ness, her figure of endurance. 

“I would not have ventured to get into the sad- 
dle, Ladyship,” she said to Alfrieda, “save that 
Messere commanded,” and she nodded to Berthold. 

“You acted quite properly,” commented Fra 
Salimbene. “This is no time for ceremony.” 

My good friend and servitor assigned our 
mounts, and after I had seen Alfrieda comfort- 
ably disposed upon a mild-dispositioned bay, and 
spoken to her words of assurance and cheer, it was 
with fine exhilaration that I gripped with my 
knees the sides of a sturdy chestnut. There and 


128 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


then I took occasion to compliment Berthold on 
his choice of horse flesh, for every one of our 
steeds seemed in prime condition. I did not espe- 
cially fancy the way in which the mottled gray 
that the friar bestrode laid his ears back, but 
often when it comes to a trial of speed or endur- 
ance, temper is not the worst equine characteristic. 

“You understand, do you not,” I said to the 
host of the Traveler’s Rest, as we debouched into 
the highway, “that we ride to Mantua?” 

“It is deeply impressed upon me, Lordship,” 
said the man cringingly. 

“Then, good night,” I cried, “and see that the 
impression does not fade from your mind!” 

We struck into a steady gait, Fra Salimbene 
and myself leading, Alfrieda with Grisanta fol- 
lowing, while Berthold brought up the rear. The 
women were both good riders, and I saw no reason 
why our progress should be in any wise retarded. 

“I fear,” said the friar presentely, “that we shall 
be readily traced. There are the gate-keepers, and 
that glib-tongued tavern-holder, despite his oily 
promises. I am inclined to think, too, that the pur- 
suit will not be long in getting under way. Those 
Saracens are likely to discover something wrong 
at the villa, and will immediately report it. We 
had best call a brief halt erelong and confer with 
Berthold.” 

It had been our intention to push forward 
through the night to Ferrara, fatiguing journey 
though it would have been for Alfrieda, for we had 


INTO THE NIGHT AND. STORM 129 


trusted that her escape would not be discovered 
until the coming day. The case in which we now 
found ourselves was different. Any hard-riding 
body of troopers, setting out shortly, would be 
sure to overtake us, unless by some detour, some 
unexpected move, we could elude those pursuing. 
Soldiers would doubtless be dispatched toward 
Mantua, toward Vincenza, toward Venice, toward 
Ferrara. Would they be sent toward Chioggia? 
I conjectured that they would not, and when we 
halted just beyond Abano, it was Chioggia that I 
advocated. 

“By choosing this city as our destination,” I 
said, “we are less likely to be captured than we 
are if we continue by any other route. If we are 
fortunate, and avoid detention, in spite of the 
detours necessary, we shall have reached the port 
by dawn. Should no boat be sailing for Ravenna, 
we can hire one. From Ravenna we can travel 
northward at our leisure to Ferrara.” 

“Whether you would have made an astute 
churchman,” remarked the friar, “I cannot guess. 
I know this, however, — you are a cunning strate- 
gist. Think you not so, Messer Berthold?” 

“Speak your mind!” I cried. “I am not order- 
ing you, in this instance, but taking counsel with 
you !” 

“We are wholly of one opinion, Capitano,” said 
the Suabian, addressing me with affection and 
pride in his tone. “Let us by all means make for 
Chioggia. Shall we ride as far as Battaglia, and 


130 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


then bend toward the coast? We can hurry past 
the town as though seeking Ferrara, and then turn 
eastward.” 

“Excellent!” ejaculated the friar and I in a 
breath. “On, then!” 

And so we plunged forward into the night, giv- 
ing our horses free rein. 

It had been a sultry day with scant breeze stir- 
ring, whatever light airs there were being from 
the south, and with the failing and disappearance 
of the sun little relief had been afforded man or 
beast. There was the same oppressive atmosphere, 
close, heavy, enervating. Now along the southern 
horizon heat-lightning began to throb and pulsate, 
at first in lines and streamers, and then in vast 
blinding waves that swept sudden and sheer across 
the whole area of the heavens. Before we reached 
Battaglia there was an ominous growl in the dis- 
tance, and when the next sheet of flame flashed 
over the sky we descried a huge bulwark of cloud 
mounting rapidly toward the zenith. It seemed to 
grow and spread during each interval of illumi- 
nation, and its dimensions were portentous. 

“We are about to encounter a tempest,” said 
Fra Salimbene, leaning toward me, “and shall be 
forced to seek shelter. It is most unfortunate, for 
our pursuers are sure to push on. We cannot, 
however, subject Madonna Alfrieda to the violence 
of such a storm as this is likely to be.” 

“We might reach Battaglia before it bursts,” 
said I, “for I judge the town to be not more than 


INTO THE NIGHT AND STORM 131 


half a mile ahead, “but entering the gates would 
be like putting our heads into a noose.” 

“Yes, that would never do. We must not ven- 
ture within the walls. There is a partially built 
monastery by the roadside not very far in advance. 
Perhaps we had best pause there.” 

“We may be compelled to,” I answered, for at 
that moment a fierce gust tore at us, to be suc- 
ceeded by a distant moaning like the sound of surf 
upon a remote shore. The lightning flashes con- 
tinued, and now and then there was a deafening 
report. 

“We must hasten !” I called back to the women. 
“Urge your horses ! There is a place of refuge 
near !” 

Soon the wind commenced to blow steadily and 
powerfully, and a few large drops of rain fell. 

“There!” cried the friar, as the glare in the 
heaven was unusually prolonged, “to our right !” 

Hard at hand loomed the walls of a rambling, 
partially completed building. It was windowless, 
but the roof had apparently been finished. 

Drawing rein, and bidding Alfrieda, her com- 
panion and Berthold halt, I announced that we had 
reached our refuge, and explained what the build- 
ing was. We had all of us just turned our horses’ 
heads toward the gaping main entrance door, 
when an untoward happening befell us. At one 
corner of the monastery stood a group of lime 
trees, one much loftier than the rest, a noble bole 
with symmetrical, spreading branches. 


132 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


Suddenly the whole universe, all heaven and 
earth, appeared to be naught but a reeling chaos 
of dazzling white light. There was a sound like 
the crack of doom ; our horses plunged madly, Fra 
Salimbene’s uttering a frenzied neigh of terror. 
Down crashed the tall lime smitten asunder by the 
terrific bolt, some of its smaller limbs whipping the 
ground about us. Directly succeeding, there was 
a flash, this one harmless, and when in half-dazed 
solicitude I glanced swiftly about for the mem- 
bers of our party, lo, the friar was missing! 

“Fra Salimbene!” I cried, “where is he?” 

“His horse bolted !” exclaimed Berthold. “I was 
nearly upset by the creature as it made off.” 

“I pray that he will get control of him and re- 
turn,” I said, as I led the way to the monastery. 

The loss of the friar would prove little short of 
a calamity. His counsel was invaluable, he was 
brave, and not without a willingness to lend a 
fighting hand at a pinch, and he had a knowl- 
edge of the roads which Berthold and I lacked. 

It was not a time, however, to stand lament- 
ing misfortune, unexpected and deplorable as it 
was. Berthold and I helped the women to dis- 
mount, and while I found a sheltered corner for 
them, the Suabian managed to quiet the still 
trembling horses. Finally we got the steeds cared 
for, and just then the tempest burst. 

I had experienced violent storms both by land 
and sea, but never had I encountered aught more 
terrific than that one. Unimpeded by a single 


INTO THE NIGHT AND STORM 133 


obstacle, it rushed in from the Adriatic, broke 
upon the Euganean hills behind us to return in 
great swirling currents and backward eddies, and 
through it all pulsated the lightning almost in- 
cessantly. 

It was with infinite admiration that I observed 
Alfrieda’s bearing. It was my pleasure to remain 
closely by her side, speaking now and then a 
re-assuring word, giving voice to my belief that 
the anger of the elements would soon abate, and 
we be able to resume our journey. Once in reply 
to an expression of this kind she looked upon me 
with a sad smile, saying, — 

“ After all, kinsman Tiso,” for thus would she 
usually call me, “what is this mad riot of rain 
and wind, this unbridled fury of nature, compared 
with the storms of heart and soul through which 
you and I have passed ! It is as nothing !” 

We were lamenting the disappearance of the 
good Fra Salimbene when the wind failed and 
the rain slackened. I strode to the entrance of 
our shelter, and stood peering out. What noise 
was that borne to my ears? Could I mistake it? 
Nay, it was the clear rattling, ringing sound of 
tempered harness mingled with rapid rhythmic 
hoof -beats near by upon the Padua road! 

Pursuers! Should our horses detect the coming 
of their kindred, unless their heads were muffled 
they would send forth challenge or greeting, and 
discovery be inevitable. 

“Berthold,” I shouted, “ the horses !” 


134 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


But he, too, had detected the approach of 
troopers, and when I gained the tethering place 
of the animals he was already there. I had doffed 
my friar’s disguise soon after we left the Traveler’s 
Rest, but the robe was still flung across the saddle- 
bow, and I cast it over the muzzle of my own steed, 
and was drawing it about that of another when 
the second creature caught the noise of hoof -beats, 
flung up its head ere I could get a firm grip upon 
the bridle, and emitted a penetrating neigh. The 
echoes of that call, reduplicated by the yet un- 
plastered walls, must have surged forth upon the 
outer air with a blast akin to that of a trumpet. 

I sprang back. 

“Guard the window-space in front, Berthold!” 
I cried, “I will look after the door!” 

As I gained my post the troop was just halt- 
ing without, perhaps thirty yards distant from 
the monastery which was somewhat removed from 
the highway. One of the intermittent flashes re- 
vealed them to me as their leader was in the act 
of giving them a command, and they were wheel- 
ing toward us, — five, ten, fifteen Saracens ! 

I heard Berthold’s angry grunt of disgust. We 
were indeed trapped, unless we scrambled from one 
of the open window-spaces and scurried away on 
foot, seeking concealment somewhere in the rain- 
drenched hollows of the adjacent hills. I was about 
putting into excution this desperate plan when, 
like the white bolt out of the open sky that dis- 
membered the lordly lime, a blow descended upon 


INTO THE NIGHT AND STORM 135 


the swart minions of Ezzelino now but a short 
lance-cast from the monastery door. 

I had a presage of deliverance ere any warning 
of danger came to the ears of the Saracens, for as 
I turned to consider the most likely means of 
egress, I beheld through one of the openings a line 
of horsemen swiftly speeding along the southern 
monastery wall. Helmets, hauberks, breastplates, 
greaves, — they were all in silver gray, and their 
accoutrements shone like moon-burnished lake 
water. 

Before there was time to hazard a conjecture 
in regard to their identity, there was the harsh 
gritting of iron-clad hoofs upon sand and stone 
fragments as the new-comers spurred around the 
corner of the building. Then the war cry — “Este ! 
Este !” rent the night, and the furious combat 
was on. 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE GRAY RIDERS OF ESTE 

Este! — The Marquis Azzo Novello, the seventh 
of that name, was one of Ezzelino’s most ancient 
and bitter foes. For years the two men had been 
sworn enemies, opponents in all lines of policy, 
civil and clerical. Although in this protracted 
struggle the head of the Romanesi had most fre- 
quently been triumphant, and although he had 
for a considerable period been in possession of the 
city of Este, and the castle which dominates it, 
the ancestral seat of the lordly house, there never 
had been on Azzo Novello’s part any inclination 
to give up the fight for ascendancy. Quiescent 
he might be for a time, but this was only because 
he desired to recuperate his forces and his fortunes 
for a new effort against the Vicar of the Marches 
whom he regarded as none other than Anti-Christ, 
the very scourge of mankind. All this had been 
communicated to me by Fra Salimbene when we had 
discussed our destination, Ferrara, of which the 
Marquis was over-lord. 

How a detachment of the Marquis of Este’s 
forces chanced to be so far within the confines of 
Ezzelino’s domain was an enigma, but that the 
dozen men who before my eyes were hacking 
blithely at the Saracens were followers of Azzo 
Novello I did not for an instant doubt. 

At the first onset the hireling heathen were 

136 


THE GRAY RIDERS OF ESTE 137 


sorely smitten. Three of their number were un- 
horsed, and several others wounded, and yet so 
gallantly did they recover themselves, and so skill- 
fully maneuver, they being remarkable horsemen, 
that in an incredibly short space the combat was 
equal, man to man. And then, to our dismay, 
the gray-garbed riders began slowly to give 
ground. There is, in all the world, as is well 
known, no finer soldier than the Saracen, especially 
if he be well mounted. He is a part of the crea- 
ture which he rides. His armor is light, but at 
the same time capable of sustaining blows of ter- 
rific impact. His tactics are swift and unexpected, 
in short he is an adversary to be both respected 
and feared. 

As I watched the cut, thrust and parry going 
on before the monastery with apprehension — the 
lightning was still unabated — I felt a touch upon 
my arm. It was Alfrieda. In her demeanor there 
was no trace of alarm. 

44 These strangers who are contending with our 
pursuers, can you conjecture who they may be?” 
she asked. 44 I heard them shout 4 Este !’ Are 
they soldiers of the Marquis, think you?” 

44 They must be,” said I, 44 but what puzzles me 
is this, — how chance they to be so near Padua?” 

44 1 think I know now !” she exclaimed, 44 and 
I might have thought of it ere this. Not long 
since father was remarking to some one that the 
Marquis had re-captured his castle of Arlio in 
the Euganean hills, and was harrying Ezzelino’s 


138 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


men whenever opportunity offered. These soldiers 
must be a detachment from the castle garrison.” 

“ Every shadow of doubt in regard to them 
is removed, Madonna,” said I, “ and they are fight- 
ing our battle, though they are not aware of it. 
It were beneath us, Berthold and myself, to let 
them do this without lending our swords, do you 
not think so?” 

I noted her hesitation, her agitation, though she 
was quick to recover herself. 

“ It were unseemly of me not to bid you God- 
speed in striking a blow for the right cause. Go! 
go! and heaven help you!” 

That she was perturbed, that she was anxious 
on my behalf, spurred me as never anything had 
done before. I caught her hand and pressed it to 
my lips. 

“ Berthold! Berthold!” I called. 

He was at my side in an instant. 

“We are needed yonder to turn the tide against 
those furious Saracens. Let us mount, and, when 
we note our chance, charge out of the doorway 
into the press shouting 4 Este’ that there may be 
no doubt in regard to which side we favor.” 

“ It shall be as you say, Messer Tiso. Ever 
since those blackamoors hove in view my sword 
had been uneasy in its scabbard.” 

Speedily we were in our saddles, waiting just 
back from the monastery portal for the smiting 
chance we sought. Presently it came. Directly 
before us was a wide space into which we could 


THE GRAY RIDERS OF ESTE 139 


rush and catch two of the Saracens upon the 
flank. As we urged forward simultaneously, we 
raised the Este battle cry, and the monastery 
echoes roared it with us. A slanting drift of rain 
lashed our faces as we emerged into the open, but 
we plunged and wheeled and struck true. Down 
went the hirelings of Ezzelino, and those of the 
gray riders who saw their fall took up exultantly 
the shout which we had uttered. They could not 
guess our identity; they saw by our habits that 
we were not of their company, but our deed pro- 
claimed us friends. 

Berthold made terrible play with his long wea- 
pon. On horseback his lameness did not trouble 
him, and he raged among the heathen like one 
possessed, until at length they scattered. It was 
no rout, however, for they concentrated at a little 
distance as though they contemplated returning 
to the attack. This they at length decided not 
to do, for they finally retired, not in the direction 
of Padua, but toward Battaglia, leaving our pos- 
session of the field undisputed. 

Around Berthold and myself gathered the 
members of the gray riders. 

“ Signori,” cried one of them, a light-haired, 
erect, vigorous man of about my own age, “ whom- 
soever you may be, we salute you. You fight like 
heroes. In the name of the Marquis of Este, 
accept our thanks !” 

“ Rather, valiant soldiers all, should we thank 
you,” I returned. “ We are fugitives from Padua 


140 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


having in charge a lady and her companion who 
are now in the monastery near us, and the hire- 
lings of the Lord of the Marches with whom you 
have just fought were in pursuit of us.” 

44 Ha !” exclaimed the spokesman of the gray 
riders, 44 a good deed done ! We were abroad, as 
is our frequent custom, to strike a blow at your 
satanic Paduan ruler, and admirably have we 
accomplished our intent, it would seem. Whither 
fly you, Signori, if I may make bold to inquire? 
It is possible that we may be of further aid.” 

44 We are for Ferrara,” I returned, then I told 
him of our intended route, and of the unfortunate 
disappearance of Fra Salimbene. 

44 You have seen the last of your friar for this 
night,” said the soldier. 44 He is undoubtedly mired 
somewhere in the marshes. And as for Chioggia, 
you would never reach it. You, too, would soon 
find yourself deep in the ooze of a road which 
the storm has rendered impassable. I have, Signori, 
a proposal to make, if you would care to listen.” 

44 By all means proceed,” said I. 

44 First let me introduce myself. I am the Conte 
di Luggio, commanding Castel Arlio, the hold of 
his Lordship, the Marquis of Este, in the Euga- 
nean hills.” 

44 And I am Tiso of the Camposanpieresi.” 

44 Messer Camposanpiero, I have heard the story 
of your family, and I trust you will not think it 
presuming in me if I express to you my profound 
sympathy.” 


THE GRAY RIDERS OF ESTE 141 


“ You are most kind, and I appreciate the tender 
of such feelings.” 

“ What I have to propose is this, — that you 
accompany us to the castle of Arlio, a ride of 
perhaps three hours by the path which we must 
traverse. Within a day or two the Marquis is 
expected with a considerable force. He will tarry 
but briefly, and in his company you and your 
charge can journey to Ferrara.” 

“ Messer di Luggio,” I cried, “ you put us 
under the deepest obligations, and lift a great 
weight from my mind. I accept your offer with 
sincere gratitude.” 

Then suddenly I thought of Fra Salimbene. 
What of him? Could I desert him thus? So fully 
had the safety of Alfrieda occupied my mind, 
driven all else out of consideration, that for the 
nonce, perhaps to my shame, the friar had been 
utterly forgotten. 

I mentioned my predicament to the count. 

“ I can leave two men behind to escort and guide 
you,” he suggested, “if you would feel more com- 
fortable to wait awhile and see if your friend 
appears. You can than follow on at such time 
as you deem best.” 

I thanked him heartily. 

“ I should never forgive myself for deserting 
so brave and unselfish a friend and comrade,” I 
said. 

“ I quite understand,” he remarked, “ but, as 
I before stated, I am fully persuaded that the 


142 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


unfortunate man will spend the night in the 
marshes.” 

The fury of the storm had passed away to the 
northward ere this, and through the wind-driven 
scud the stars were beginning to show their lance- 
like points. There was still an occasional faint 
flush of aerial fire in the distance, and by the 
pallid light of one of these fitful illuminations I 
saw Alfrieda framed in the door of the monastery. 
Although I was sure that I was placing her in the 
best of hands, my soul rebelled that I was not 
to be the one to ride by her side as her chief pro- 
tector on the further dark journey through the 
night. But my decision had been made, and so 
dismounting, and asking the Conte di Luggio to 
accompany me, I forthwith presented him to Al- 
frieda. 

“ This gallant gentleman and Berthold,” I said, 
in conclusion, “ will safeguard you until I can re- 
join you, I hope in company with our good friend 
the friar.” 

Alfrieda uttered a little exclamation of dismay. 

“You are to remain here?” 

“I am to have the company of two stout sol- 
diers,” I assured her, “and there will be no danger 
from the Saracens. They will not return, but Fra 
Salimbene will endeavor to unless he has lost his 
bearings entirely. When you rise in the morning 
I trust that I shall be on hand to greet you.” 

When those of the gray riders who had received 
wounds had been ministered to by their companions, 


THE GRAY RIDERS OF ESTE 143 


the Conte di Luggio gave orders for the troop to 
form in marching array. In the center of the 
little cavalcade the two women were placed, Ber- 
thold being close at hand; then when I had said 
adieu for the time being to Alfrieda and our cor- 
dial benefactor, the company defiled into the dark- 
ness. 

It was far from being a cheerful task that I 
had set myself, this tarrying for one who, in all 
probability, would not appear, and those who had 
been commanded to keep me company were inclined 
to regard the enforced watch in the light of an 
imposition, nor could I blame them. And yet I 
felt it incumbent upon me to remain. Fra Salim- 
bene would have done as much and more for me, 
I was sure. 

After much effort I contrived to break through 
the wall of reserve and resentment which my com- 
panions raised, and once this victory was achieved, 
and an exchange of campaigning experiences be- 
gun, we speedily were on a very friendly footing. 
The two men, though both were considerably older 
than myself, had never been out of Italy, and while 
they were seasoned veterans in many home wars, 
and had many vivid tales to relate, I could more 
than match them when it came to a matter of the 
picturesque and unusual in warfare by scenes which 
I had witnessed and dangers which I had encoun- 
tered in the East. 

Thus, in martial reminiscences, two hours wore 
away, and it drew on to midnight. When a bell 


144 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


in one of the Battaglia steeples flung its twelve 
silvery strokes upon the air, I started from where 
we had been crouching. 

“ My deep thanks are yours, for your patience, 
my friends,” I said to the two gray riders. 44 1 
am convinced that further delay here is useless. 
Let us be off!” 

44 Gladly, Cavaliere !” they cried heartily, and 
we turned our backs on the monastery and made 
for the hills. But before we took our departure 
what did those scarred troopers do, in a freak of 
grim hilarity, but drag the bodies of the Saracens 
who had been slain in the encounter and prop 
them up on each side of the monastery door. It 
struck them as a huge joke, the consternation that 
would smite the monkish builders on beholding the 
stark sentries, but I must confess on me the point 
of the jest was lost. 

One of my companions before me and one be- 
hind, we turned erelong from what seemed to be 
a fairly level and well-traveled highway into by- 
paths that penetrated dark clefts in the hills, now 
ascending sharply, now descending abruptly, ever 
winding, and most of the time shrouded in gloom. 
But there was no faltering, no hesitation, on the 
part of him who led. If during all that black 
pilgrimage we passed the haunts of men, as occa- 
sionally we must have done, I was unaware of it 
save once, and then because the trooper guiding 
checked his horse, allowed me to come abreast, 
clutched my arm, and pointed upward. 


THE GRAY RIDERS OF ESTE 145 


“ There,” said he, “ is one of the strong places 
of Ezzelino da Romano.” 

I was conscious of a massive tower far above 
outlined against the sky, and that was all. 

After we had ridden about two hours the 
troopers produced some food from their saddle- 
bags which they were good enough to share with 
me, and we rested on the grassy bank of a brawl- 
ing water-course while we ate. 

The first lines of light were beginning to lace 
the east when we emerged from the byways, and 
struck upon a wider, upward-trending road. 

“ Arlio is close at hand,” said he who came be- 
hind, and sure enough in a few minutes out of 
the grayness loomed the castle walls upon an emi- 
nence above us. 

First one and then the other of my companions 
uttered a peculiar holloa which was immediately 
repeated from one of the towers guarding the now 
visible gate. There was a rattle of chains as the 
draw-bridge was dropped and the portcullis was 
raised. 

“ Has the Conte di Luggio and his party 
arrived?” I inquired of one of the guards, as we 
entered the courtyard. 

“Yes, Messer, some time since,” was the an- 
swer, so, easy in mind, I cast myself upon the 
soldier’s pallet in the room assigned me, and gave 
myself over to the luxury of slumber. 


CHAPTER XVI 
AT CASTEL ARLIO 

Although Castel Arlio had been built by one 
of the ancestors of the present Marquis of Este 
as a pleasure retreat, a refuge when the heats of 
the summer became intense upon the low-lying 
lands of his domain, the place lacked none of the 
defences that safeguard a stronghold of war. 
Looking down craggy declivities into a narrow 
gorge on two sides, upon the other two it domi- 
nated slopes that were by no means gentle, and were 
free from a shrouding growth of any character 
save at their very base where the olive orchards of 
the hamlet of Arlio spread their silvery gray 
boughs. 

The fortress had fallen into Ezzelino’s hands 
through stratagem, and had been retaken by Azzo 
Novello in similar fashion. The latter was now 
occupying it solely for the purpose of baiting 
his ancient enemy, and not with the intent of main- 
taining a permanent garrison there. This he 
would not consider doing until his fortunes gave 
stronger warrant. 

The castle was irregular in shape, following 
the contour of the hill-crest on which it was situ- 
ated. In addition to the main eastern gateway, 
there were two posterns giving access to lateral 
valleys by means of footpaths. Beside the arcaded 
court, in the center of which was a well which 

146 


AT CASTEL ARLIO 


147 


furnished a never-failing supply of sweet water, 
there was a southward facing terrace super-imposed 
upon a buttress of rock, and thrown out as it 
were from the side of the castle. Although it 
was protected by a wall of solid masonry, it was 
not in any sense fortified, nor did it need to be, 
for from it there was a sheer drop of at least 
forty feet to the sharp teeth of sun-scorched 
crags. A short passage and half a dozen cliff- 
hewn steps gave access to it, and it was here, hav- 
ing been directed by an idle member of the garri- 
son, that I found Alfrieda at mid-morning of 
the day following my lonely night march. She 
was accompanied by the Conte di Luggio, who was 
pointing out to her certain objects of interest 
in the wonderful sweep of landscape which the 
terrace commanded. 

Comparing his immaculate attire with my 
travel-worn and stained accoutrement, his bon- 
hommie with my own somewhat grave demeanor, 
I felt a sharp thrill akin to jealousy pierce my 
heart. Yet it lasted but the barest breathing 
space, for when Alfrieda turned at the sound of 
my footsteps, there was a welcoming warmth in 
her eyes that was fairer to see than the morning. 
The pang passed, and from that hour I never 
knew it again. 

“ Let the Conte di Luggio preen himself how- 
ever so gaily,” I told myself, “ it will be only 
the surface favor that he will win from the queen 
of maids!” 


148 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


44 I have already learned,” was Alfrieda’s first 
remark, while her eyes still held mine, and the 
delicate rose of her cheeks ripened, 64 that you 
heard naught of Fra Salimbene.” 

44 Nothing,” I said. 44 Doubtless Messer di 
Luggio’s conjecture was correct. I am not in- 
clined, however, to feel anxious about him, for 
he is a man of much resource. In all probability 
we shall discover his whereabouts erelong in Fer- 
rara. But he, on his part, will be greatly worried 
about us.” 

44 I would, then, that it might be given to him to 
see us at this moment. Indeed I wish he might 
share our good fortune,” and she dropped a cour- 
tesy to the count. 

44 The good fortune, methinks, is; ours, Ma- 
donna,” returned Di Luggio gallantly. 

44 1 have just been telling Madonna Deslemaini,” 
continued he, addressing me, 44 that I am acquainted 
with her Ferrara cousins, and a queer pair they 
are, though one of them, the elder, (both, indeed, 
are quite in middle life) had he not taken it into 
his head to remain a bachelor, would, I believe, 
have made something of a man. The other, para- 
doxical as it may sound, has been unmade by his 
wife,” and he laughed lightly at his quip. 

44 If they will but take me in,” said Alfrieda 
gravely, 44 1 am sure I shall be able to put up 
with their queernesses.” 

44 You will bring into their shut and musty old 
palace halls the sunlight they need!” cried Di 
Luggio. 


AT CASTEL ARLIO 


149 


At that instant something impalpable, indefin- 
able, caused both the count and myself to turn. 
Upon the upper step of the flight leading down to 
the terrace stood an extraordinary figure of a man. 
He was short, little above four feet, yet well pro- 
portioned in the main, save that his arms were of 
unusual length. He was very powerfully and com- 
pactly built, had much grace for one so grotesque 
in appearance, in fact his features might have been 
called handsome by those fancying the exceedingly 
dark type in man or woman. 

It flashed upon me that Di Luggio was dis- 
turbed. Just the ghost of a shadow flitted athwart 
his good nature. I am certain Alfrieda failed 
to observe it, but I had a shrewd suspicion that 
the man above us was cognizant of it, and was 
pleased rather than otherwise. Before the subtle 
impression was gone I heard the count speaking 
Alfrieda’s name and mine, then saying, 

“ Let me present my lieutenant, the officer next 
in command, Osimo da Feltre.” 

The man made us obeisance from where he stood, 
and his ease somehow surprised me. I was like- 
wise taken aback by the melody of his voice. Yet 
there was an insinuating quality in it which affected 
me unpleasantly. Then he descended the steps, 
and once more I was astonished, this time by the 
air with which he carried himself. He entered 
at once into the conversation, and without appear- 
ing to do so contrived to shape the current of it. 
Thus we stood chatting for some moments until 


150 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


finally Alfrieda excused herself, saying she desired 
to seek out her companion Grisanta. A little 
later with Di Luggio and his aid I adjourned to 
the courtyard, then the two went away together 
while I made a tour of observation upon the 
battlements with one of my companions of the 
previous night. 

Toward noon I chanced upon the count, and 
was drawn apart by him into one of the secluded 
watch towers. Here he spoke in this wise. 

44 I am somewhat of a believer in first impres- 
sions, and desire to ask you what yours are of 
my in more ways than one remarkable lieutenant.” 

44 His is doubtless a strong personality,” I volun- 
teered, 44 but I do not think that I should care to 
trust him.” 

He nodded. 

44 Your inner sense and mine coincide exactly !” 
he exclaimed. 

44 Tell me of this Da Feltre.” 

44 He is comparatively new to us of Ferrara, 
but he is in some way related to the wife of the 
Marquis, and has managed to rise rapidly in favor, 
in spite of the strange stories which are abroad 
of his doings at Piacenza where he held office under 
the Marquis Pelavicini. What puzzles me most 
in regard to him is this. Why he should wish 
the post which he occupies to which I am positive 
he got himself appointed, supplanting a good 
comrade of mine? The taking of Castel Arlio 
was a hazardous affair which I persuaded upon 


AT CASTEL ARLIO 


151 


the Marquis to allow me to attempt chiefly to 
remind the arch-fiend of a Vicar that we have 
not forgotten him. You see Azzo Novello has 
a romantic affection for Arlio, and has hated to 
think of the soldiery of Ezzelino lazing within 
its walls. We gave the beggars one mighty lively 
evening a few months back, I promise you,” and 
the count chuckled at the recollection. 

“ But why should this Da Feltre, who delights 
in the ease of courts and the smiles of women — oh, 
he is a brave ogler and payer of compliments ! — 
why should he take it into his head to immure 
himself here where frugality is perforce the rule, 
and where there are no women but scullions (save 
now the lovely Madonna Deslemaini) to dance 
attendance on ? Answer me that, Messer Campo- 
sanpiero !” 

“ Certainly it seems most strange !” 

“ Strange indeed ! I cannot figure it out unless 
it is that Da Feltre is now, and has been all 
along, in the confidence and employ of that devil 
yonder in Padua! I am speaking plainly to you 
who are well nigh a stranger, but you are a gentle- 
man and a soldier, I need no further proof of that 
than what I have already witnessed, and I may 
find it necessary to call upon you for counsel and 
assistance, who can say! Finally, let me whisper 
this in your ear. This Da Feltre is a dangerous 
man with women. I have heard it whispered that 
he has some strange power over them. You may 
be here but a brief time, but it were well to be on 
your guard.” 


152 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


I knitted my brows. 

44 By the mass,” I cried, 44 he had best be 
cautious !” 

44 Several days since I had two of the most 
trustworthy of my men placed as special night 
guards at the posterns. This was directly after 
Da Feltre had several times ridden forth from the 
castle alone. Ezzelino’s troopers are continually 
prowling about the neighborhood, and it is never 
our custom to send forth less than half a dozen men 
together. When I spoke to Da Feltre in regard 
to the risk he ran he answered me in this fashion; 
— 4 1 say to you, Messer Conte, as I once said to 
my kinsman, the Marquis of Este, hazard is the 
one thing that gives to life its savor!’ ” 

I began to think I had chosen far from wisely 
when I selected Cast el Arlio as a refuge for Al- 
frieda. But the thing was done, and naught 
remained but to make the best of it, and to hope 
for the speedy coming of Azzo Novello and his 
force. 

44 There is a favor that I would ask of you, 
Messer di Luggio,” said I. 

44 You have but to name it,” he returned. 

44 That my room and the one occupied by my 
friend and follower, Berthold, be changed to the 
corridor upon which the apartments of Madonna 
Deslemaini open.” 

44 A wise provision that shall be at once arranged 
for,” declared the count. 44 It would be to me a 
source of never-ending regret if aught befell the 


AT CASTEL ARLIO 


153 


lovely lady here where I command. This whole 
matter may be born out of the mist of my imagina- 
tion, may grow out of my unaccountable dislike 
of Da Feltre, but some slight precautions against 
possible danger will do no harm.” 

After a few more words we descended to the 
courtyard where I encountered Berthold with whom 
I paused to witness the daily noonday parade of 
the garrison forces. They were a fine appearing 
body of men, these troopers of Este, and I noticed 
that Da Feltre, who was conducting their manue- 
vers, handled them after the manner of a master. 

“What think you, my friend,” I said to Ber- 
thold, “ of the small-statured officer yonder?” 

“ The dwarf?” returned he, pursing his lips, 
and giving his head a peculiar sidelong twist, as 
he was wont to do when seriously considering a 
subject. “ He knows his trade, but I would rather 
be fighting against him than with him, though 
I doubt not I should find him a tough adversary.” 

I then told the trusty Suabian of my conversa- 
tion with Di Luggio. 

“We will watch, you and I,” said Berthold, 
“ and if there is any deviltry afoot Messer Osimo 
the Dwarf will have to play his game cleverly 
if he thinks to win.” 

The next morning word was brought to Arlio 
by special messenger that the Marquis of Este 
would be delayed a week in his coming. Alfrieda 
took the news gaily, but I was troubled with heavy 
forebodings which I was at pains not to show 
when in her company. 


CHAPTER XVII 

THE PLOT OF OSIMO THE DWARF 

Three of the days before the expected arrival 
of the Marquis Azzo Novello of Este had slipped 
by, and it was the afternoon of the fourth. Scarcely 
a ripple had stirred the serenity of life at Arlio, 
but there had been undercurrents. Twice, so Di 
Luggio had reported to me, Da Feltre had absented 
himself from the fortress under the pretext of 
making a personal reconnoissance of one of the 
side valleys, now openly averring that before leav- 
ing Ferrara he had been empowered to act upon 
his own responsibility by the Marquis. 

“ Were it not for his intimate connection with 
my commander-in-chief,” the count had declared, 
in conclusion, 66 1 should place the man in con- 
finement, but under the circumstances I dare not, 
and he knows it, and is chuckling to himself be- 
hind my back.” 

“ You can do nothing, so far as I can see, but 
watch with redoubled vigilance,” said I. “Either 
Berthold or myself has warded our corridor 
throughout the night, as you are aware, and we 
will continue to keep guard.” 

Possibly an hour after this conversation, I 
chanced to find Alfrieda alone upon the terrace. 
It was extremely rare that I had her to myself, 
for either Di Luggio or his lieutenant was gener- 

154 


THE PLOT OF OSIMO 155 

ally in attendance, and I inwardly hailed this 
opportunity for a talk with her delightedly. 

I must have shown the pleasure I felt, for at 
the outset she was inclined to banter me on my 
radiancy of bearing. Not a word had been 
breathed to her of Di Luggio’s suspicions, nor 
was she aware of the vigils which Berthold and 
I so rigorously kept, so her natural light-hearted- 
ness had, in some measure, re-asserted itself, and 
I was surprised after her preliminary chaffing 
that she should fall suddenly grave, and fix her 
eyes musingly on the distance. 

In the years long gone two olive trees had been 
planted on the terrace in a spot where, in a cleft 
of the rock, there had been a gradual accumulation 
of soil. These trees had flourished, and now made 
a pleasant shade against the afternoon heats. A 
bench had been placed beneath them, stretching 
from gnarled trunk to trunk, and upon this we 
were seated. 

“ Kinsman Tiso,” said Alfrieda at length, ceas- 
ing her contemplation of the remote slopes be- 
yond the intervening gorge, “ there is something 
I would fain confide to you, but, ere I do so, I 
would ask of you a promise.” 

“ ‘Tis given,” said I, without considering what 
the maid might have to tell me. 

“ It is a promise that you will curb your anger, 
and not act hastily or rashly, when you have 
heard what I shall say.” 

I gazed at her in wonder. What strange rev- 


156 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


elation was she about to make? I expect my 
jaw set, for she spoke mildly, smiling a little 
wistfully the while. 

44 I shall have to remind you, perhaps, that you 
have promised.” 

What could I do but smile back at her ! 

44 I will do my best to keep my word,” I pledged, 
44 yet I am but human, and have been known to 
give way to anger, when provoked.” 

She meditated an instant, and then began. 

44 There is a man here whom I have come to 
distrust and fear.” 

I was on the point of naming him, but checked 
myself with a suppressed — 

“ Is it possible?” 

64 Yes, and before to-day, although I realized 
that he was repugnant to me, I had no real grounds 
for distrusting or disliking him, but now, since 
this morning — ” 

44 Has this person offered you some insult?” I 
cried, springing up, my brow contracted and my 
hands clenched. 

44 1 see that I shall indeed have to remind you 
of your promise,” said she. 

I resumed my seat. 

44 You were saying? — ” 

44 That since this morning I have come to the 
conclusion that Messer Osimo da Feltre is involved 
in, in truth may be the leader in, some dark plot. 
Until to-day I have given little heed to his subtle 
flattery which he has continually poured into my 


THE PLOT OF OSIMO 


157 


ears, attributing it to the man’s natural attitude 
toward women. A few hours ago he changed his 
tactics, and grew boldly outspoken. He begged 
me to take him for a protector instead of you, 
saying that he had the power to be of real aid 
to me, while you were but a person of broken 
family, without position and without influence.” 

With both hands she grasped one of my arms 
as she saw I was likely to give way to passion. 

“Hear me! hear me, I beg of you!” she be- 
sought. “ You are doing the very thing I be- 
lieve he desires to bring about. You are losing 
your self-control. Do you suppose I would speak 
of so intimate, so delicate a matter to you, were 
I not persuaded that it is the aim of this Da Feltre 
to force you into a quarrel, and somehow kill you? 
A remark he let fall later, when I scorned his 
proposal, caused me to think this. He counted 
on me to tell you his proposition believing this 
would arouse your wrath, and lead to the desired 
result. I have told you, but it is to warn you 
against being drawn into a difference with him 
on any score whatever Again I would remind 
you of your promise, kinsman Tiso.” 

“Was it won from me quite fairly, Madonna?” 
I answered. “ Assuredly if I am openly affronted 
by this man, you would not have me play the part 
of a poltroon !” 

“ If I know you to be no coward, and if you 
yourself are conscious of your bravery, would you 
allow a despicable villain to lure you into a per- 
sonal conflict to suit his own black ends ?” 


158 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


“ But if all this is imaginary?” 

“ It is not imaginary !” — and there was intense 
conviction in her voice — “my woman’s heart tells 
me — ” 

She stopped abruptly. 

“Your promise!” she said, beneath her breath. 

Glancing toward the steps by which the terrace 
was gained, I caught a glimpse betwixt the olive 
boughs of Osimo da Feltre slowly descending. 

“ If aught should happen to you, what of me?” 
she added, as I hesitated. 

And yet I felt, deep in my soul, that it was 
not of herself she was thinking so much as of 
my safety. 

“ You have my promise,” this in an undertone 
as we rose together. “ Make some excuse, if you 
can, and let us leave.” 

If I was to refrain from taking this wretch 
by the throat her woman’s wit must remove me to 
a spot where the temptation was not so overpower- 
ing. Yet I perceived at once that avoidance of 
him was to be no simple matter. He had planted 
himself at the foot of the rock-cut steps, and was 
awaiting our approach with his insinuating smile. 

“ I hope,” he said, and it was as bare-faced 
an insult as was ever breathed, “ that I am not 
frightening our turtle-doves from their nest.” 

Alfrieda met the contemptible speech calmly, 
while I dug my nails into my palms and set my 
teeth hard, a very hell of fire within. 

“ I have asked Messer Camposanpiero to accom- 


THE PLOT OF OSIMO 


159 


pany me to a place where we will not be inter- 
rupted, as I desire to confer with him concern- 
ing a matter of importance,” and she moved to- 
ward the creature as though she would brush him 
like a fly from her path. 

He hesitated for a second, then I believe it 
occurred to him that she might be taking me 
somewhere to communicate to me his proposal, 
and so he stepped to one side. Alfrieda walked 
by him with as much indifference as she would 
have passed a pillar of stone, and as for myself 
I did not dare so much as let my glance waver 
toward him lest I should catch the shadow of some 
maddening look upon his face, and fling caution 
and my pledged word to the four winds. And 
so we trod the courtyard together and ascended 
the main staircase, at the head of which I left 
her. 

“ You will avoid him?” she said, as we were 
parting. 

“ I will do so on every possible occasion. Had 
I best tell Di Luggio? He already distrusts him.” 

“ It might be well to, and yet, upon a second 
thought, it would be likely to make trouble for 
him with the Marquis should he have any difference 
with Da Feltre. I shall hereafter keep closely 
to my room save at meal hours, when he cannot 
annoy me, and if you can manage to have no 
converse with him, then, on the whole, silence may 
be the wiser course. We shall be leaving erelong, 
I trust.” 


160 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


As evening fell clouds gathered and closed about 
Arlio and the adjacent crests. Darkness shut in 
early, and the night promised to be one of un- 
broken gloom. The castle grew quiet before the 
wonted hour. No one save those on duty seemed 
disposed to linger in the court or guard room. 
I had declined an invitation from Di Luggio to 
join him at chess in his apartment, excusing my- 
self on the plea of dulness, and sat with Berthold 
by the small window of his chamber (his sleeping 
place and mine adjoined) which by daylight com- 
manded a view toward the east. Even to him I 
had said nothing of the afternoon’s occurrence 
upon the terrace, and there was silence for a long 
space between us, each busy with his own 
thoughts. 

“ It’s a grewsome night,” declared the old 
soldier presently, pausing as he burnished his 
sword, and eying the impenetrable void without 
with a shake of his head. 

“ It would be a sage precaution, I think, were 
we both to be on guard after midnight,” said I. 
“ Should there be any treachery contemplated here 
at Arlio there could be no fitter time than these 
unhallowed hours for its execution.” 

It was then hard upon ten. Having each rested 
for a space in turn, when we heard the clank of 
the changing watch in the courtyard at twelve, 
we stole out into the corridor and closed our re- 
spective doors. Previously we had divided the 
night between us, pacing from the head of the 


THE PLOT OF OSIMO 


161 


main stairway to that of a narrow descent to the 
gallery bending toward the south-western postern, 
this descent being reached around an elbow in the 
corridor. Between these points, and not very far 
from our own rooms, were the connecting apart- 
ments occupied by Alfrieda and Grisanta, and be- 
tween these points also, just at the corridor elbow, 
was a winding stairway leading to the floor above. 
It was these stairways, connecting at unexpected 
intervals one floor with another in both the north 
and south corridors, that gave me the greatest 
feeling of insecurity, for I realized how easy it 
would be for a stealthy-footed prowler to slip 
about in the vast maze of stone, and catch even the 
most alert watcher unaware. 

I gave Berthold the shortest sentry duty, the 
space between the main stairway head and Al- 
frieda’s door; for myself I reserved the other por- 
tion of the corridor communicating with the south- 
western postern. In two iron brackets, long dis- 
used, we stuck torches which we occasionally re- 
plenished, and while they by no means dissipated 
the gloom of the lonely passages, they at least 
rendered it less oppressive. 

Had each of us restricted his beat it might have 
been wiser, and yet who can say that the outcome 
would have been different, or, indeed, as fortunate? 
We were contending with an ingenuity the subtlety 
of which we did not yet fully realize. 

It was perhaps two hours ere the first faint pre- 
sage of dawn, that period of the night when the 


162 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


currents of life run lowest, and sleep lays its 
heaviest grip upon the bodily powers. I had left 
the postern stair, and was nearing the corridor 
elbow, when a hoarse cry rang down the vaulted 
passage, and my name was thrice repeated. It 
was Berthold calling. 

Like a bolt ejected from a cross-bow I made a 
spring. I cleared the comer, and distinguished 
the massive bulk of my companion watcher, torch 
in hand, before me at the nearer end of his beat. 

“What is it? For God’s sake, what is it?” I 
cried, as I ran toward him. 

“See!” he ejaculated, pointing with the flam- 
beau, as I gained his side, “see!” 

A door, not that of Alfrieda’s room, nor of Gri- 
santa’s, but of the apartment adjoining, was ajar. 

“I touched it by accident just now in passing, 
and it swung back !” exclaimed Berthold. “Look ! 
the fastenings have been tampered with!” 

I did not wait to examine them, but seizing the 
torch from his hand I leaped within, sick with a 
chill dread. Yes, it was as I had anticipated, the 
room connected with that next it, Grisanta’s, and 
the door between the two was open. 

“Tricked! duped!” I groaned, as I plunged 
into the woman’s apartment. 

On her bed the poor creature lay, breathing 
heavily under the influence of some potent drug. 
It must have been deftly administered, for no sign 
of a struggle was apparent. And Alfrieda’s 
room ! — empty, with the bed-coverings half 


THE PLOT OF OSIMO 163 

dragged upon the floor, an overturned chair, and 
several articles of apparel close beside it ! 

“A thousand furies !” I cried, gritting my teeth 
impotently, and gazing distraught at Berthold 
standing before me. 

“Come!” he commanded, grasping my arm, and 
fairly hauling me forth into the corridor by the 
route we had pursued on entering. “The woman 
there will get her senses soon enough. We may 
not be too late. Something tells me all this has 
just happened!” 

“It is Osimo’s work,” said I, “and he must have 
made use of the stairway to the floor above, there 
at the corridor’s elbow. If he is still in the castle 
it will be by the northern postern he will try to 
flee, not by the one I was watching !” 

“To the north postern, then!” exclaimed Ber- 
thold, and just as we started for the main stair- 
case, from somewhere in the distance, faint and far, 
yet penetrating, clear and unmistakable, shrilled 
out a woman’s scream. 

And I pealed forth in answer an exultant cry of 
joy, for I knew that we were in truth not too late. 


CHAPTER XVIII 
ON THE CASTLE TERRACE 


Four bounds took me down the main staircase, 
a feat which I never could execute again without 
grievous damage to my bones, for in one hand I 
grasped the torch, and in the other my naked 
sword. Two drowsy guards were leaning against 
the wall in the great arched castle entrance, and a 
lively fright I gave them by my cry, for it was 
suddenly borne in upon me that this attempted 
abduction by Osimo might be part of a plan to 
surprise the castle. 

“Follow!” I called to them, “follow!” and I was 
away diagonally across the court where an arch- 
way from the arcade gave access to the lower 
northern gallery and postern. Behind me they 
raced in full shout, and after them panted Ber- 
thold. 

From somewhere above I felt certain that Osimo 
was descending swiftly with his precious burden. 
Whence would he come? Almost opposite the very 
archway toward which I was speeding was a stair- 
case. That was the shortest route, and fear that 
Alfrieda’s cry might have been heard would lead 
him to choose it. 

Unencumbered, by any harness whatsoever, I 
did not realize that my feet touched the stones of 
the court as I ran, yet the pace was not so fleet 
as my desire. A strong current of air nearly 

164 


ON THE CASTLE TERRACE 165 


quenched my flambeau as I gained the arcade, tell- 
ing me that the postern was open. Had Osimo a 
confederate? I did not pause to consider. Into 
the gallery I dashed, raising my torch on high. A 
man stood at the postern, seemingly one of the 
castle guards. He scanned my face an instant, 
and then leaped at me like a mountain cat. I met 
him. Steel rang once against steel. My blade 
slid along his like a snake. A quick wrench 
turned his weapon aside, and then — well, he crum- 
pled up on the gallery flagging like a piece of 
flame-sered parchment. I wheeled, and there was 
Da Eeltre, and there, too, were the guards who 
had followed me. 

“Seize him!” I shouted. “He is a traitor, and 
would betray the castle!” 

They paused, doubtful what action to take, and 
their hesitation was the salvation of the dwarf. 
He pealed out the battle-cry of the Romanesi, and 
hurled himself upon me like a catapault. With- 
stand that furious onslaught I could not, and was 
forced to give ground. Never had I seen a sword 
wielded as he plied his. I considered myself a 
master of fence, and while I may have been the 
equal and possibly the superior of Da Feltre in 
some particulars, in the contracted space where we 
faced each other I was no match for his infinitely 
rapid play. Then Berthold roared in upon us with 
a furious oath at the supine guards. 

I had backed beyond the open postern, and at 
the sound of the Suabian’s angry objurgations 


166 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


the dwarf desisted from his attack upon me, and, 
ere any one could intervene, with a terse and 
taunting “we shall meet again, my lover !” 
plunged forth into the night. 

“Shut the postern!” I shouted, “shut the pos- 
tern !” nor was the action taken an instant too 
soon, for as the bolts and chains rattled into place 
there was a tremendous impact upon the seasoned 
barrier of oak and iron as a beam was driven 
against it from without. 

It was quite as it had been given me to see 
in my descent of the main staircase. Abduction 
and attack had been carefully planned, were, in 
fact, to be coincident. All along Osimo had been 
in communication with the forces of one of Ezze- 
lino’s lieutenants, and when he found that I was 
not to be drawn into a quarrel and disposed of ere 
the blow was struck, he hastened the consumma- 
tion of his plot. Aided by his sole confederate 
within the walls, he had slain Di Luggio’s trusty 
guard, and only the veriest chance had foiled his 
clever machinations. 

While the impotent blows were yet resounding 
on the stout postern door, I dropped my sword, 
and still clutching the flambeau, for others now 
came tossing across the court, I swarmed up the 
stairs which Da Feltre had descended. As I reached 
the top, and started to follow the corridor east- 
ward, out of the darkness emerged a loose-robed 
figure, — Alfrieda, feebly feeling her way along 
the wall! 


ON THE CASTLE TERRACE 167 

“Thank God!” I cried, “thank God!” and then 
she staggered forward, and cast herself sobbing on 
my breast. 

* * * * * 

It was late in the afternoon of the next day, 
and we were sitting, Alfrieda and I, upon the 
bench beneath the olive trees on the southern ter- 
race. From far below came up the rhythmic rip- 
ple of running water. Across the precipitous vale, 
from the gentler further slopes that the olives sil- 
vered, drifted the mellow cadence of bird-song. It 
was all so lovely and peaceful that we gave no heed 
to the solitary figure sitting erect upon his horse 
where the road to the south topped the distant 
crest, a figure above whose head floated the pen- 
non of the Romanesi. 

It was our first meeting since that fateful early 
morning hour, and though as yet few words had 
been spoken, a great happiness lay between us. 
The beauty of the tranquil golden sky enfolded us 
like a blessing. The deep sorrow, the anxious 
stress of the past, were, for the time being, lifted 
from our spirits. Again the world was good and 
life a boon. 

“And do you feel that you can tell me now,” 
I said, “what you recall of your dreadful experi- 
ence? Then we will try to banish it from our 
minds.” 

She gave a little shudder, but the sense of se- 
curity which enveloped her lent her assurance, and 
she nodded with a grave smile of assent. 


168 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 

“Berthold and I,” I commented, “have vainly 
cudgeled our brains to make out how that con- 
temptible creature twice eluded us as he did. Of 
course the door fastenings must have been loos- 
ened at some earlier time. All was in readiness for 
the attempt. But the success which he achieved 
must have been the result of almost superhuman 
agility.” 

“He possesses it, I believe,” declared Alfrieda, 
“and like the cat kind he must be able to see in 
the dark. I was roused from a deep sleep,” she 
continued, “by a painful sensation of suffocation, 
and was conscious that some one was endeavoring 
to make me swallow an evil tasting potion. Strug- 
gling in the grasp of a pair of powerful hands, 
unable to distinguish anything in the enveloping 
blackness, I almost at once felt the lethargic effect 
of what little of the drug had found its way down 
my throat. I can remember thinking that it was 
useless to resist. Then a garment was wrapped 
about me, and I was lifted and borne away. There 
was a strong rush of air upon my face when I 
again became conscious. It must have been this, 
I imagine, that caused me to regain my senses. 
Then for the first time it came to me that I was 
in the arms of Osimo da Feltre, and I screamed.” 

“It was then that we heard you,” said I. 

“He did not give me another chance to cry out,” 
Alfrieda went on, “for his palm closed over my 
mouth like a vise, and he hurried along like a mad 
thing, cursing me fiercely. You see he had been 


ON THE CASTLE TERRACE 169 


deceived, believing I had swallowed all the drug 
as he had intended I should. At length having 
paused as least twice in his desperate flight to lis- 
ten, he cast me from him with a hideous impreca- 
tion, and I had just recovered from the shock of 
the fall, and was moving in the direction of the 
medley of sounds which echoed up from below when 
you appeared at the stair-head.” 

Then recollecting perhaps the impulse of thank- 
fulness that had caused her to cast herself into my 
arms, she blushed — blushed celestially, shall I say? 
At least I never before appreciated the full divin- 
ity of a blush in a woman. 

“I am very sure,” she remarked, with a touch of 
coyness, “that I should have had a hearty greet- 
ing for any rescuer at that moment.” 

But I was not cast down at the implication that 
another would have received the same spontaneous 
welcome that had been given me. 

“The Comte di Luggio, for instance?” I sug- 
gested playfully. 

“He is a proper gentleman,” she remarked, “and 
yet ” 

“And yet,” I repeated. 

But she would go no further. 

Though I was sure of myself, gentles, and, bet- 
ter far than that, sure of her fond heart, her pure 
soul, the wonderful rapture of that hour thrills 
me to this day when I think upon it. How elo- 
quent I grew as though inspired by some nameless 
influence! Speech? I was not dumb, as I have 


170 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


heard some are under similar circumstances. Nay, 
words flowed from my lips as a torrent flows from 
a living well in a rock ! I laid my life before her. 
I bared the past. I drew a picture of the future. 
I was like a painter, enamored of the vision which 
he is portraying, and I could see how the play of 
my fancy pleased her. Smiles hovered constantly 
about her mouth as I went on, as white doves about 
a cote. I knew she was won, and she realized that 
I had the knowledge of her love, and was happy. 
Her eyes dwelt upon mine; then I had her in my 
arms, and much closer I held her to my breast than 
I had dared in the corridor above the northern 
postern. 

“Tiso,” she said, presently, “I have ever 
dreamed of a wooer like to thee !” 

“Sweeting,” said I, in return, “never have I 
dreamed of a maid like thee, for thou art sweeter 
than any dream.” 

And so till the sun drooped, aye, and after, it 
was this amorous give and take of lovers. Then 
it was that I spoke of the fate of her family, and 
was able to comfort her in her sorrow. Later we 
went into the banquet-hall where dinner was 
nightly spread, although the board was sparsely 
supplied, owing to the exigencies of warfare. 
There must have been that in our faces which told 
our story, for Di Luggio came gallantly to meet 
us with his cordial compliments, and Berthold with 
his bluff and hearty good wishes. 

Again upon the following afternoon we sat on 


ON THE CASTLE TERRACE 171 


the terrace together, and as an interval of bliss- 
ful silence succeeded an interchange of tender con- 
fidences, my sight chanced to return to earth after 
a journey through the realms of happy fancy. 
The distant horseman, he of the day before, be- 
came, on a sudden, animate, resolving himself into 
rapid action. He was no longer a statue flying a 
pennon of the Romanesi. Down the winding road 
into the valley below us he frantically roweled his 
steed. We rose, drew to the terrace-edge, and 
watched him disappear around a buttress of rock. 

Alfrieda looked at me questioningly. 

“Ah,” I exclaimed, “that explains it!” and I 
pointed to the post of outlook whence the horse- 
man had spurred. 

It was a brave spectacle upon which shone the 
westering light. Line upon line, in full armor, 
marched a glittering cavalcade, above which, 
splendid with colors as rich as the sunset, the ban- 
ners of the House of Este floated on the breeze. 


CHAPTER XIX 

THE AFFAIR OF PONTE LUNGO 

One hundred — two hundred — three hundred 
men, plumes tossing, mail glistening, horses cur- 
vetting, and a herald with trumpet of burnished 
silver to give tidings of their approach ! And then 
the answering cheers from the quickly gathered 
groups upon the battlements ! It had been an 
anxious time for these sturdy soldiers of the garri- 
son, — days and nights of unceasing watchfulness, 
fleet and far outridings in the darkness, hard 
blows given and received and withal scant fare to 
sustain body and spirit. They were proud of 
what they had done, faithful in almost every in- 
stance to the cause they served, yet they were un- 
feignedly glad to behold this armament of their 
lord coming to their relief. 

They packed the great castle court, these men 
of Este, row ranged on row, all at attention, and 
I had little wonder that the Marquis Azzo Novello, 
the sixth of that name, surveyed them with a touch 
of pride. Yet he was not a vain man, a trifle pom- 
pous may be, ruddy, and inclined to corpulence, 
but graciousness itself when in conversation, with 
a heart as kind as that of his ancient foe, he of 
Romano, was malevolent. 

When all had heard the news he brought, — how 
out of policy, owing to weighty projects that were 
on foot, the castle was to be abandoned, — and when 

172 


AFFAIR OF PONTE LUNGO 173 


the troops had been quartered, some in a bivouac 
just without the castle, for the stronghold, al- 
though spacious, would not contain the entire 
train, then it was that Di Luggio presented Al- 
frieda and myself to his commander, with brief 
explanation of the reason for our presence at 
Arlio. 

Reception more kindly could not have been ac- 
corded us. Our families he knew; my tragic mis- 
fortunes had reached his ears, and of Alfrieda’s he 
was not surprised to learn. 

“Ferrara will welcome you both,” he said, “you, 
Madonna, at the palace of your relatives ; you, 
Messere, at our court.” 

When told of the treachery of his wife’s kins- 
man the saneness of his character was revealed. 
He did not, as Ezzelino would have done upon the 
receipt of such unpleasant news, fall into a black 
rage and vent his wrath upon some innocent per- 
son near him, but with a grave shake of his head, 
and a sad look about his mobile mouth, said, — 

“It will be his loss in the end. I harbored and 
trusted him for my wife’s sake, despite his evil 
reputation, but I am not greatly surprised at the 
result. Indeed I believe I have every reason to be 
thankful that he is now where whatever harm he 
does will have to be wrought openly. He cannot 
at least betray me in my own house.” 

“Can he not still work in the dark?” I suggested. 
“I have a presage that I, at least, have not seen 
the last of him.” 


174 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


“I earnestly pray you have, as I trust I have,” 
said the Marquis, and with that Da Feltre was 
dismissed. 

All the ensuing day there was much bustle in 
the castle preparatory to the proposed evacuation. 
Alfrieda and I roamed about much together, view- 
ing with interest everything that was going for- 
ward, and when it came to the departure hour it 
was between Berthold and myself that the dear 
maiden rode down into the valley and up the 
winding ascent from the crest of which we were 
to look for the last time upon Arlio. And as we 
drew rein, and regarded the magnificent fortress 
standing out so grandly in the full flood of the 
morning light, my heart went out to it, especially 
to that part of it which seemed like a garden hang- 
ing from the side of the southern battlements. 

“Should I never behold the spot again,” I said, 
gazing into the lovely depths of Alfrieda’s eyes, 
“the terrace yonder will ever have a fond place in 
my affections, for there I learned how much of joy 
life can contain.” 

“We will cherish the place together, Tiso mio,” 
answered she, with her rare smile. “What it is to 
you, even so is it to me.” 

Very delightful it was to ride under the autumn 
sky companioned by love. In the vineyards that 
climbed many of the hillsides men and women were 
busy at the purple harvest. Here there were 
drooping fig boughs, heavy with fruit; there the 
apricot showed the fervor of its cheek. All the 


AFFAIR OF PONTE LUNGO 175 


widening sweep of land revealed the gold and 
bronze touch of the ripening season. Soon 
through an opening in the hills we descried the 
gleam of far off waters where the Adige and the 
Po stole through the rich levels of the lowlands to 
the sea. And then, as we began to descend, another 
gap in the declivities gave us a glimpse of the 
pinnacled battlements and towers of Montagnana 
that seemed to swim and sway in an ocean of am- 
ber haze. 

The road which we were traversing took us 
about half way between the last named town and 
the ancestral seat of the Marquis, now in the pos- 
session of Ezzelino. As we wound downward it en- 
tered the active brain of his Lordship that a dis- 
play of arms before Este, upon a certain wide 
strip of meadow without the walls, might prove an 
agreeable diversion, knowing the citizens to be 
friendly, and realizing that no force which the 
Lord of Romano might have stationed in the town 
would venture forth to give battle to so formidable 
a body of light-riding men-at-arms as composed 
his following. Accordingly he detached Di Luggio 
and twenty gray riders to escort Alfrieda and my- 
self, and with the remainder of his armament 
trotted blithely away upon his adventurous expe- 
dition. With some this digression might have ap- 
peared like an act of bravado, but with him it was 
nothing more than a martial jest, a caprice of the 
hour. 

“Doubtless we shall reach Ferrara hard upon 


176 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


your heels,” he shouted to Di Luggio, with a wave 
of farewell, “or should you chance to take siesta 
at Ponte Lungo, haply we may overtake you there 
and continue together.” 

II Ponte Lungo was what remained of a once 
noble Roman bridge spanning the Adige at a spot 
where the river was wide and shallow, and despite 
its ruinous and well-nigh impassible condition, it 
was still used to a considerable extent by travelers 
journeying northward from Ferrara, especially 
those not making Padua an objective point. It 
was high noon when we drew in sight of the ancient 
structure, an unobscured sun flaming fiercely in a 
lifeless heaven, and we all hailed with delight the 
willow and poplar shade which we beheld on the 
southern bank of the stream. 

“What say you to tarrying yonder till his 
Lordship comes up?” suggested Di Luggio to Al- 
frieda and myself, as we began taking our way 
in single file along the still stable arches above the 
yellow flood. 

“It would be agreeable to us, I am sure,” re- 
turned Alfrieda, “if you think there is no danger 
of an attack from any roving band of Ezzelino’s 
forces.” 

“Personally I regard it as perfectly safe,” said 
Di Luggio, “or I certainly would not suggest it, 
and the Marquis must also have done so, or he 
would hardly have mentioned it as he did.” 

It was in this wise decided that we should halt 
beneath the poplars and willows on the banks of 


AFFAIR OF PONTE LUNGO 177 


the Adige, just by the southern approach to the 
old bridge, and very agreeable it was to recline 
upon the sward, hearken to the drowsy mid-day 
gurgle of the seaward-lazing river, and partake of 
the hardy soldiers’ fare which the troopers pro- 
duced from their saddle-bags. 

The horses were tethered, the men put aside 
their heavy armor, and when their hunger as well 
as ours had been appeased, there were friendly 
bouts at wrestling, as well as other trials of skill, 
for our entertainment. After the tension and 
rigid discipline of Arlio, this relaxation, duly 
sanctioned by Di Luggio, was very welcome to 
those of the gray riders who were acting as our 
escort, and they entered into whatever was pro- 
posed by any one of their number with enthusiastic 
abandon. 

Although Alfrieda and I were interested in the 
games of the troopers, we hailed the time when, 
after the sports had been concluded, we could stroll 
apart and rest together upon a gigantic willow 
root which formed a natural seat a few feet from 
where the bank dipped sharply to the stream. 
Here, hand clasped in hand, we took no heed of 
how the moments flew. We had escaped out of the 
very mouth of the pit which had engulfed our kin, 
and although the shadow of a great sorrow was still 
dark upon us, yet with our love and our youth, 
and our hope for the future, it is not to be won- 
dered that we found life fair. 

We spoke of casual things, each realizing in the 


178 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


presence of the other the height of happiness. 
There was a boy fishing in the shadow of one of the 
half crumbled arches upon the opposite shore who 
engaged our attention for a time; then it was a 
hawk, now poising in mid air, a black speck upon 
the intense golden blue of the sky, and now de- 
scending like an arrow to seize its prey; again it 
was a boatman pulling with long, languid sweep 
against the current which was tossed up like little 
drops of liquid amber from his prow. 

Following the progress of this oarsman, we 
noted, after the lapse of a considerable number 
of moments, just as he was approaching a wide 
bend in the river above us, that he hung upon his 
oars, and began scrutinizing the southern shore of 
the stream. 

“What can that man see?” queried Alfrieda, en- 
deavoring to pick out the point in the skirting 
foliage upon which the waterman’s gaze was di- 
rected. 

Trees and underbrush lined the southern bank 
of the Adige as far as it was visible, with scarcely 
a break in the thick covert. At one spot, and it 
appeared to be the very place upon which the oars- 
man’s eyes were fixed, the leafage gave way to a 
dense mass of lofty reeds. Watching them in- 
tently, I fancied that I could detect a peculiar 
wavering among them, again and yet again. 

“They are tall enough to conceal a squad of 
horsemen if they leaned low in their saddles,” said 
I, voicing without intending to do so, the thought 
that rose in my mind. 


AFFAIR OF PONTE LUNGO 179 


“Horsemen!” exclaimed Alfrieda, with a sug- 
gestion of apprehension in her tone, “what 
horsemen, pray, could be riding yonder?” 

“True enough !” I answered, “what horsemen in- 
deed! And look, our man with the oars has had 
his curiosity satisfied, for he is pulling away in 
his sluggish manner again ! He may be a hunter, 
for aught we know, and the disturbance yonder 
may have been caused by some deer which he 
caught sight of, and paused to observe, thinking 
to return erelong and fill an empty larder.” 

Thus I endeavored to put the thing from Alfri- 
eda’s mind and my own, but somehow I grew un- 
easy. In the direction of the road there was no 
undergrowth, but to the south and west the low 
shrubbery extended to within perhaps twenty paces 
of where we were encamped. I glanced at the gray 
riders. They lay stretched about in several 
groups, laughing and chatting, wholly unprepared 
for any sudden onset. Apart, and toward the 
road, Di Luggio and Berthold were striding up 
and down, gossiping together. Four troopers 
were in charge of the horses, but they appeared 
listless and drowsy. 

I started up with a swiftly formed determina- 
tion, and instinctively Alfrieda rose with me. 

“You may think me old womanish, my love,” I 
began, “but ” 

The sentence was never completed. A care- 
lessly bent -back bough revealed to me in the un- 
derbrush an evil face beneath a soldier’s helmet. 


180 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


“Quick, men!” I shouted. “Your arms! Look 
to the bush yonder!” and, as I hastened to con- 
duct Alfrieda to a place of greater safety, I indi- 
cated the spot where I had detected the malignant 
countenance. 

Chance! fortune! fate! — call it what you will 
— it was this that saved us from capture, and our 
escort from slaughter probably to the last man. 
The snare had not been fully set, for when two 
score of as ruffianly a pack of free blades as ever 
struck a foul blow broke from the woods about us 
two or three minutes later, we were in a measure 
prepared for them. And who most fittingly should 
be in command but Osimo da Feltre! 

How he had managed to collect such a scurvy 
company of rascals, and thus contrive cunningly 
to waylay us was entirely a matter of conjecture. 
From some point of vantage, either he himself, or 
a spy in his employ, must have witnessed the de- 
parture of the Marquis Azzo toward Este, after 
which the arch villain had laid his plans, but hap- 
pily a benignant providence had intervened, and 
at the crucial moment guided my sight. 

Forming in a semi-circle, we retreated upon the 
approach to the bridge, a causeway where not more 
than half a dozen men could face each other. 
Here, despite their superior number, Da Feltre’s 
followers had us at but small disadvantage. True 
we were compelled to abandon most of the horses, 
but upon one of the few we did succeed in rescu- 
ing, a messenger was dispatched with desperate 


AFFAIR OF PONTE LUNGO 181 


haste to bid the Marquis, who, we trusted, could 
not be far away, hasten to our aid. 

“ ’Tis all my fault,” groaned Di Luggio, who 
by my side, with Berthold on his left, was resist- 
ing the furious efforts of Da Feltre and his band 
of underlings to penetrate our ranks. 

“Do not be so cast down !” I cried. “This attack 
can avail nothing. We can hold this bridge till 
nightfall, if need be!” 

“I might at least have thrown out sentries,” 
lamented Di Luggio. 

“And had them slain,” said I, “while as it is we 
have not lost a man, nor are we likely to.” 

Forsooth, we had now fallen back upon a posi- 
tion where the swords of Di Luggio, Berthold, one 
other and myself formed practically a wall of steel 
against which our assailants hurled themselves in 
vain, however much Da Feltre raged, and led the 
attack upon us. I crossed blades with the villain 
for an instant, and in this case it was not as it had 
been at the Arlio postern, for I had the satisfac- 
tion of touching him upon the shoulder with a 
pretty thrust which I had mastered in the East. 

Then there mounted a great burst of cheering 
behind us, with cries of “Este ! Este !” whereat our 
adversaries precipitately turned tail and fled, some 
of our company, with derisive yells, pursuing 
them into the underbrush where all our horses 
were re-captured. Alfrieda glided up and hung 
upon my arm with pride and joy, so that I gave 
no thought to Osimo da Feltre glowering at us 


182 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


and the smiling Marquis, ere, with a gesture of 
menace, he plunged into the intricacies of the 
tangled covert. 

“Bear up, man!” cried the Marquis to his cap- 
tain, after greetings had been exchanged and ex- 
planations given, Di Luggio still being downcast. 
“ ’Twas I who suggested the siesta at Ponte 
Lungo! I shoulder the whole blame. I failed to 
take into account the cunning and the boldness of 
the cousin of La Donna Marchesa. This fine 
gentleman may one day over-reach himself, and 

when he does, ” the quick motion with his 

hand which the Marquis made was more expressive 
than a volume of words. 

Berthold, standing by, uttered no articulate 
sound, but muttered hoarsely in his throat. 

Gaiety followed hard upon the heels of what 
might have been tragedy, and so we rode blithely 
on towards Ferrara, I smiling into Alfrieda’s eyes, 
and she into mine. 


CHAPTER XX 

WHAT HAPPENED AT FERRARA 


In the street of Santa Maria della Rosa, not far 
from the church of that name, stood the Palazzo 
Deslemaini, gray, stately and forbidding. The 
memory of it to this hour fills me with a repug- 
nance that is akin to horror. The street was a 
small thoroughfare, and the palace dominated it, 
chilled it so I came to feel, and made it even more 
insignificant than it really was. 

When I left Alfrieda at the door of the Palazzo 
Deslemaini in the hands of her relatives, and went 
to seek out some lodgings which Di Luggio in his 
kindness assured me I would find comfortable 
(Berthold accompanying me), I was, in so far as 
the sorrowful experiences through which I had 
passed would permit me to be, a happy man. In 
less than a week I was miserable. 

In the Palazzo Deslemaini dwelt the brothers Ar- 
naldo and Giacomo, the former a man of affairs, 
married and childless, the latter a scholarly re- 
cluse, unmarried. These men were the cousins of 
Alfrieda’s father. Arnaldo Deslemaini gave me 
the impression of being bloodless. Tall, thin, 
slightly stooping, gray-eyed and sparse of hair, 
he was suspicious, calculating and cold. His wife, 
Angelica, most unfittingly named, was his precise 
counterpart. Giacomo Deslemaini was of a mark- 
edly different nature, yet his long years of seclu- 

183 


184 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


sion had renderd him shy, reserved, and con- 
strained. 

Such was the society into which Alfrieda, she 
who was naturally all sunshine and blithesomeness, 
was thrown. It was like condemning a flower, a 
sweet thing that longed for the free airs of heaven, 
to perpetual gloom. And I whom she had grown 
to love with the same single-heartedness with 
which I loved her was made clearly to understand 
at the close of my second visit, parting from Ar- 
naldo Deslemaini at the street door, that my pres- 
ence beneath the roof of the Deslemaini was not 
welcome. The relationship between the two fami- 
lies through my mother was ignored, and it was in 
no wise indirectly hinted that the son of a broken 
house was no match for one who was likely to be 
the heir of one of the wealthiest nobles of Ferrara. 

Directly afterward, in the only interview which 
I ever had alone with Alfrieda in the Palazzo Des- 
lemaini (an interview that was purely a blessed 
chance), I told her these things; and had it been 
practicable to seek Fra Salimbene’s niece, or indeed 
any other refuge, she would have quitted her kins- 
folk that very hour. Could I have provided her 
with fit shelter, I would have besought her to 
hasten to a priest with me, and she would have 
gone. But, alas, there was much grievous truth in 
Amaldo Deslemaini’s remark ! I was the son of a 
broken house, and until I retrieved my fortunes 
I could not claim Alf rieda as mine. Ere I left her, 
however, she extracted a promise from me that I 


WHAT HAPPENED AT FERRARA 185 


would come to her once a week; such a privilege, 
she declared, she would insist upon. And we 
agreed that we would write each other, — love 
would find a way. Forsooth, love speedily did, for 
Alfrieda’s charm and goodness so won the affec- 
tions of one of the Deslemaini serving-women that 
she would have traveled to the ends of the known 
earth for the sweet maiden. 

It was this trusty attendant (for Grisanta had 
been peremptorily dismissed) who frequently left 
affectionate missives at my door, and bore back 
with her tokens of my unceasing devotion. 

The autumn wore away, and winter came, — win- 
ter, with its sharp changes, its bitter winds, a sad 
time for the poor who were not infrequently to be 
seen crouching throughout the night about bon- 
fires kindled in the piazzas, for the season was 
most severe, and fuel scarce. 

Directly after my arrival in Ferrara I had pre- 
sented my letter from Fra Salimbene to the papal 
legate, Filippo Fontenase, Archbishop of Ravenna, 
and had been assured by him that a command for 
me would be forthcoming when the forces of the 
leaguer gathered. Weekly, in all the churches in 
Ferrara, then twice, and finally thrice a week, was 
Ezzelino da Romano denounced, and indulgences 
promised to any who would join in the movement 
against him. 

I was much at the court of the Marquis Azzo 
where there was talk of little but the crusade. The 
Count of San Bonifacio came and went; emissaries 


186 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


from Bologna and Venice arrived, were closeted 
with the Marquis and his advisers, and departed; 
yet the time for the concentration of the allies 
kept being postponed. In the meanwhile my care- 
fully hoarded resources, at first considerable, began 
to grow slender, and the situation as regards Al- 
frieda and myself was such as to wear my patience 
threadbare. 

Repair to the Palazzo Deslemaini each week I 
did, always to be received with the same frigidity 
by Messer Arnaldo and his wife, who remained in 
the room during my call, exchanging occasional 
comments, but never addressing themselves either 
to Alfrieda or myself. Giacomo was rarely pres- 
ent. When he was, the atmosphere was a trifle less 
icy, for he had a warm heart beneath his shell of 
reserve, and had begun to cherish for my beloved 
a real affection. He even exchanged a word now 
and again with me upon the street, and finally, 
discovering that I had some bookish leanings, be- 
came quite friendly, dropping in occasionally at 
my rooms to show me a missal, or an ancient 
manuscript which he had contrived to procure. 

To add to my discomfiture, it began to be whis- 
pered about at court that Messer and Donna Ar- 
naldo Deslemaini were inclined to favor the at- 
tentions of Messer Matteo Ticini, a merchant 
prince of Ferrara, to their cousin. This man was 
a widower who bore a very objectionable reputa- 
tion, and it was very easy for me to imagine how 
repugnant his advances would be to Alfrieda. Yet 


WHAT HAPPENED AT FERRARA 187 


she was practically powerless to resent them, and I 
must perforce stand by and bear it all in moody 
silence. 

Then there came a rift in the enveloping gloom. 
Fra Salimbene appeared. We met one day in the 
Piazza della Pace, and embraced like brothers. 
While the friar had been apprised of Alfrieda’s 
safety and mine, and I had learned of his fortu- 
nate escape from the bogs of Battaglia, and subse- 
quent mission south as far as Rome, we had a deal 
to say to each other, and spent many hours in 
pleasant converse in my apartments. It was a 
great relief to me to unburden my troubles to an 
old friend, and the friar’s lofty and courageous 
spirit was as a staff to lean upon. A little later 
he contrived to speak with Alfrieda alone, and his 
counsel of patience and forbearance was a great 
support to her as well as to me. 

Although he offered to conduct her to the con- 
vent of which his niece was an inmate, he advised 
her against leaving her relatives, and by this ad- 
vice she finally decided to abide. 

The chill weather broke suddenly, and the wide 
wave of greenery that engirdled Ferrara was a 
signal for the gathering of the hosts. Fra Salim- 
bene managed to arrange a loan for me ; Giacomo 
Deslemaini, to whom I introduced my friend, con- 
ceived a great liking for him, and became in- 
creasingly cordial, and the command of five hun- 
dred papal recruits under the direct supervision 
of the Legate, who was more of a soldier than a 


188 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 

prelate, was assigned to me, so my star appeared 
to be in the ascendant. Then the blow fell, un- 
foreseen in its swiftness, dire and crushing in its 
results. 

Toward evening on a mild day of the first week 
in March I was returning with Berthold, for whom 
I had obtained a petty office, from the parade- 
ground which lay just within the walls in the 
south-easterly quarter of the city. Here I had 
been drilling my command in certain new evolu- 
tions. On entering the street in which my lodgings 
were situated, I descried Giacomo Deslemaini 
standing before my door. There was nothing re- 
markable in this fact, for he had fallen into the 
habit of dropping in at my rooms, when he took 
the air, for a chat with me or with Fra Salimbene 
who was accustomed to come and go at his will, he 
having a sleeping apartment but two houses away. 

I greeted my guest heartily as I drew near, and 
at my invitation he followed me within. Slightly 
stooping and thin, like Arnaldo, Giacomo Desle- 
maini resembled his brother in no other particular. 
There was an appealing, almost pathetic expres- 
sion in his eyes of deep brown, and his smile, when 
once you chanced to see it, was very engaging. 
Formal he always was, despite the greater famil- 
iarity and friendliness existing between us, but 
this punctilious and grave demeanor was some- 
thing he could not divest from himself. 

“Messer Camposanpiero,” said he, pausing in 
the middle of the room into which I ushered him, 


WHAT HAPPENED AT FERRARA 189 


and leaning rather heavily on the tall cane he al- 
ways carried, “I have never talked with you con- 
cerning your experiences during the time while you 
were conducting my cousin, Madonna Alfrieda, 
hither, but I have recently heard the story of that 
period minutely from her lips. There was a man 
whom you encountered in the Euganean hills by 
the name of Osimo da Feltre.” 

Had there been at that instant a total darkening 
of the sun, had the firm earth opened, and the 
buildings rocked like tempest-swayed boughs, I 
could not have been more amazed. Never, up to 
that instant, had Giacomo Deslemaini so much as 
mentioned Alfrieda to me, though I inferred that he 
was aware of our feelings toward each other, and 
assumed that he did not sympathize with the atti- 
tude of his brother and sister-in-law. And De 
Feltre! What could the introduction of his name 
import ? 

“We certainly did encounter such a man !” I ex- 
claimed. “I have every reason to remember the 
fact.” 

“Well, Messere, Da Feltre is, I believe, at this 
moment in Ferrara. I met him face to face last 
night in the Palazzo Deslemaini.” 

I stared at him incredulously. 

“You may think I do not know the man, — that 
I am dreaming. Many a time have I encountered 
him when he was here, a member of the court of 
the Marquis, and it was he who slipped down the 
palace staircase at midnight as I ascended, for, as 
it chanced, I took the air late.” 


190 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


“But how did he dare enter the city?” I ex- 
claimed, “and his presence at the Palazzo Desle- 
maini, what can it mean?” 

“Dare ! Evidently he dares anything ! As to his 
presence in the palace, that is exactly what I de- 
manded of my brother this morning, and was bid- 
den go bury my nose in my books ! Bury my nose 
indeed! By the living God, but they shall see 
what I will do! If my brother and his heartless 
wife are plotting aught against that lovely girl 
yonder, let them have a care!” 

Here was a new man, one whom I did not dream 
existed. In the space of two minutes he had 
grown in stature. His brooding eyes were afire 
with intense emotion. 

“I came to tell you that this man was in Ferrara. 
I have been here twice before and not found you. 
If you go abroad by night, it were well to look to 
yourself.” 

“But Alfrieda !” I cried. 

“If harm befall her,” he said slowly and im- 
pressively, as he took his departure, “I will answer 
with my own life!” 

And how clearly I remembered these words 
afterward ! 

Hastily I changed my garb and sought the 
street again. Dining, as was my wont, at an ad- 
jacent eating-house, I hurriedly made my way 
to the Palazzo D’Este where I was much disgusted 
to learn that that very morning the Marquis, the 
Papal Legate, Di Luggio, and several others 


WHAT HAPPENED AT FERRARA 191 

high in the councils of the league, had ridden forth 
for a conference with certain leaders at Bologna, 
and were likely to be absent all the day following. 
Engrossed as I had been in my own affairs this 
excursion had not reached my ears. 

“Who has been left in command?” I inquired 
of my informant. 

“The Conte di Cassioli,” was the answer. 

I groaned inwardly, for the man was a vain 
martinet from Mantua whom the Marquis and the 
Legate were courting because of his well-filled 
pockets. Nevertheless I determined to ascertain if 
I could get him to take steps toward discovering 
the whereabouts of Da Feltre, and issuing orders 
for his apprehension. 

I managed to gain admission to his presence, 
but the result of my earnest appeal to him was 
quite what I had anticipated it would be. He 
pompously refused to act. The matter was out- 
side his province, he affirmed. He had heard of 
the man, was cognizant of some of his acts, but 
the Marquis was soon to return, and could follow 
such a policy as he saw fitting. In the meanwhile, 
if I was not satisfied, I could state the case to the 
captain of the city guard. I did so with much the 
same result. The captain, it seemed, had an ad- 
miration for Da Feltre, and preferred not to 
move on his own initiative. 

Disgusted, and not a little disturbed, with Ber- 
thold as a companion, I haunted the Via Santa 
Maria della Rosa till considerably after midnight. 


192 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


Long before I left the street every light had been 
extinguished in the Palazzo Deslemaini, and for 
fully an hour ere my departure there had been no 
passer in the contracted thoroughfare. But I re- 
tired to my lodgings reluctantly, discussing with 
Berthold the advisability of a longer vigil. We 
finally decided, however, that further watch 
would be futile. 

It was not until the gray dawn had begun to 
dispel the shadows in the streets of Ferrara that I 
slept, anxiety riding me like a hag o’ the night. 
When slumber did come it gripped me heavily. It 
was hard upon ten o’clock when I was aroused by 
a vigorous pounding without. I leaped from bed 
and ran toward the entry door. 

“Who is there?” I demanded. 

“Ercole, Lordship, from Messer Giacomo Desle- 
maini. I have a letter for you, Lordship !” 

I drew the bolts and took the letter. 

“Is there an answer?” I inquired. 

“Nothing was said, Lordship,” and the servant 
was gone. 

It was a bitter chill morning, and I hastily drew 
on a portion of my clothes before I scanned the 
parchment. Berthold hearing the disturbance, and 
the sound of the my voice, had appeared from his 
room above, and begun to kindle a fire. 

“Friend and kinsman,” the missive opened, “for 
as such I have come to regard you, although I am 
thus to address you for the first and last time.” 

Amazed, terrified, my eyes devoured the page 


WHAT HAPPENED AT FERRARA 193 


which I held, and as I read my blood seemed grad- 
ually to congeal in my veins, for thus the dread- 
ful letter proceeded : — 

“When I left you yesterday I made you a prom- 
ise. By the time this reaches you this promise 
will have been fulfilled. Bear with me, and you 
shall learn all I know of a deed revolting beyond 
the bounds of belief, — a deed which those who 
committed it have now expiated. Returning yes- 
terday from your lodgings, I repaired to my apart- 
ment to dress as usual for dinner which I am ac- 
customed to take with my brother and his wife. I 
do not employ a man-servant, and my dressing- 
room is the third of three connecting rooms with 
but one entrance upon the corridor. This will ex- 
plain to you why I did not realize that the door 
to my apartments was securely fastened behind 
me. The barrier is one which I could not break 
down with any means at my disposal, and I was 
kept a prisoner until after eight this morning. I 
was then released from confinement by my brother. 
He made brief apology for forcibly detaining me, 
and asked me to descend with him to the break- 
fast-room where, he said, full explanations would 
be made. I followed him. At the table I found 
my sister-in-law. My brother seated himself, and 
begged me to be seated, but I refused. He ap- 
peared to be somewhat surprised at this. I suppose 
he has so long lorded it over me that he has come to 
regard me wholly as a nonentity, as I am aware I 
am looked upon by others. ‘I feared, Giacomo,* 


194 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


he said, ‘from what I have observed of late, that 
you might make objections to what seemed to us — ’ 
and he included his wife with a wave of his hand — 
‘the best disposal of our young relative from 
Padua. We found her absolutely deaf to every 
proposal made to her as regards her future, firmly 
fixed in her intention to adhere to her impossible 
attachment to the person who conducted her 
hither, hence we resolved to take the matter en- 
tirely into our own hands, and act for what was for 
her best interests as well as ours. Certain advances 
were made by Messer Ticini, but the arrangement 
which we have just concluded is vastly more ad- 
vantageous. Our cousin left at an early hour this 
morning, in company with Messer Osimo da Feltre 
and two attendants, to be the bride, at some time 
later, of Ezzelino da Romano.’ 

“I think you will believe me, Messer Camposan- 
piero, when I tell you that at this statement I was 
incapable of speech. I knew my brother and his 
wife were both mean and grasping, but that they 
could be capable of such monstrous behaviour 
passed the bounds of credibility. But my brother 
proceeded to lay bare all the baseness of the trans- 
action. ‘Not only,’ he said, ‘will the girl be raised 
to a position of great honor, but we, the Desle- 
maini, will now unquestionably be the richest fam- 
ily in Ferrara. Not even the Marquis — ’ 

“But here at last I found a tongue. ‘Arnaldo 
Deslemaini,’ I cried, in a frenzy, ‘you are no 
brother of mine! I repudiate you and your un- 
natural spouse utterly!’ 


WHAT HAPPENED AT FERRARA 195 


“Messer Camposanpiero, I have long carried a 
stilleto. I was first impelled to do so after being 
set upon by foot-pads on one of my nocturnal ram- 
bles through the city streets. I have a strength 
which you would little guess. Need I say more 
than to reiterate the statement that I have kept my 
promise to you, and to tell you that when you read 
this we, the three Deslemaini, will all still be sit- 
ting at breakfast.” 

The parchment fell from my nerveless fingers. I 
must have uttered some incoherent sound, for 
Berthold cried out, springing to my aid, 

“What has happened, Messer Tiso? what has 
happened ?” 

“Hell has come on earth!” I exclaimed, and 
would have fallen had he not supported me. 


CHAPTER XXI 
THE FALL OF ANSEDISIO 

The despair bordering upon madness of the 
day that ensued I would not dwell upon. Had it 
not been for the devoted Berthold and that stanch 
friend, Fra Salimbene, I should have died by my 
own hand. Not more closely could a mother have 
watched her first born, than my faithful ally and 
servitor watched me during the time directly fol- 
lowing that dreadful morning. Then the friar be- 
gan to plead with me. I would not listen to his 
reasoning at the outset, being, I think, too over- 
come, too distracted, to recognize the truth of 
what he said. But gradually the sanity of his out- 
look prevailed. Hope commenced to flicker again 
in my breast, a very pale, feeble flame, later, 
however, a steady fire that made me ardent to be 
up and doing. 

The Marquis Azzo might a dozen times over 
seize upon the recreant captain of the city guards 
who had been persuaded to issue for De Feltre a 
night permit to leave the city; he might cast him 
into the deepest and darkest of Ferrara dun- 
geons ; he might express to me the sincerity of his 
regret for what had occurred. What was all this 
in comparison with that which Fra Salimbene held 
out — Hope ! 

Ezzelino, he argued, and truly, had already 
taken the field against the Mantuans. He was 

196 


THE FALL OF ANSEDISIO 197 


leagues from Padua in hostile territory, intending, 
with the large force which he had summoned, to 
overawe his presumptuous rivals. Ansedisio was in 
command by the Brenta, and behind the walls of 
Padua. Under the circumstances no nuptials were 
likely to be celebrated for weeks, nay, it might be 
for months. In the meanwhile might not the con- 
stantly swelling league be victorious over Anse- 
disio, aye, over Ezzelino himself! Assuredly dur- 
ing this period no harm would befall Alfrieda, for 
if Ezzelino was so intent upon wedding her, he 
would see that she was carefully protected. 

Extremely sound logic all this, surely, although 
at first I found it difficult to extract much comfort 
from it. I ate and drank mechanically. I came 
and went in a daze. My sleep was broken, with a 
constantly recurring vision of the three Desle- 
maini, for they were found, even as Giacomo’s let- 
ter to me had intimated they would be, sitting 
stark about the table in the palace breakfast-room. 

Finally, however, as I have already indicated, 
the desire for action grew to be a consuming pas- 
sion with me. I yearned unspeakably for the hour 
to arrive when the command should be given for 
the advance of the leaguer. I drilled the men of 
my troop assiduously, and had the satisfaction of 
being complimented upon their maneuvres by the 
Legate himself. Berthold, I could see, rejoiced 
over the change in me, and Fra Salimbene never 
failed when we met, which was frequently, to add 
fuel to the beacon which he had kindled in my 
breast. 


198 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


I was honored by an invitation to be present at 
the consultation of the leaders to decide upon the 
day for beginning the campaign. The Marquis of 
Este presided, appearing a trifle more corpulent 
than usual in contrast to the Legate, with his spare 
frame and ascetic countenance. There was the 
Count of San Bonifacio, ruddy and alert, bearing 
still in his mind the luring away of his wife, Cu- 
nizza, at which Ezzelino had connived; the two 
brothers, Uberto and Jacopo of Carrara; Fra 
Giovanni of Scio, representing Bologna; and the 
Conte Guistiniani who was to command the Vene- 
tian contingent. Di Luggio was there, too, and 
several other officers and churchmen. 

There was no prolonged discussion, for it was 
generally recognized that any further delay would 
be detrimental to the morale of the troops, many 
of whom had been in camp a considerable time, and 
were beginning to chafe under the continued delay. 
Tuesday of the last week in March was presently 
settled upon ; then it was decided that the Marquis 
should await at Rovigo the progress of the 
larger crusading army, and be in readiness to 
effect a juncture on the receipt of tidings of suc- 
cess. These matters concluded, the Legate invoked 
God’s blessing on the undertaking, and the gath- 
ering dispersed. 

Every hour of daytime was now full, yet my 
mind never was far removed from one thought, 
just as in the night at sea the eye of the pilot is 
almost constantly fixed upon the star by which he 


THE FALL OF ANSEDISIO 199 


shapes the course of his ship. The release of my 
mother and my beloved! — this was the idea that 
kept its constant dwelling in my brain. Somehow 
the two women became connected, and the feeling 
grew within me that if I found one I should find 
the other. The notion haunted my dreams. 

Fra Salimbene had dispatched writings to friends 
in Padua, the same holy men through whom he had 
gained his first knowledge of my mother’s where- 
abouts, asking them to ascertain if news was to be 
had of Alfrieda. The answer which would be ere- 
long forthcoming he promised to forward to mo 
by sure hands. He himself needs must journey 
southward again, so early on the morning of the 
day set for the leaguer to move, he appeared to 
bid me farewell. Berthold was just fastening on 
my armor, and the friar tarried until this process 
was completed, when we embraced with fervor. 

“Have faith!” he exclaimed, as we descended to 
the street together. “I am firmly persuaded that 
all will turn out well, and that the next time I see 
you it will be in the castle of Fonte, restored to 
your own, with your loved ones about you.” 

“If that day ever comes,” I answered, “and God 
grant it may, there is no one who will be more 
welcome within our doors than yourself. Remem- 
ber my home, wherever it chance to be, is always 
yours !” 

And so I parted from one who was every inch a 
man. Forsooth, I know not a nobler soul living ! 

The stir of departure, the responsibilities and 


200 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 

incidents of the march, the tarry for a brief time 
in Venice, the crossing of the lagoons and de- 
barkation near the mouth of the Brenta, — all these 
things made my life one of unceasing activity, but 
it was an activity which I courted. Now the hard- 
ships and the dangers of the campaign grew to be 
actualities. What had been was as a holiday tri- 
umph compared with what was to be. 

The country was fair to behold beneath the 
genial April sun. Wherever we went there were 
flowers. The air was fragrant with them, and 
sweet with bird-song. The gonfalons of Venice, 
the pennons of Ferrara, the banners of Bologna, 
the ensign of the Pope carried by a youthful 
standard-bearer whose place was at my side, — 
these fluttered bravely in the breeze of morning as 
we advanced against the first fortress to bar our 
progress, the Castel di Brenta, and it fell, fell 
quickly, as did Cero and Corregiuola. Ere the last 
of these successes was gained by our arms, the con- 
fident Ansedisio had sallied forth to meet us and 
offer battle, but he retired to Padua more hastily 
than he had quitted its walls so great was the num- 
ber of desertions from his army to ours. 

Fearing a direct assault on Padua by means of 
the armed craft of Venice, he now tried to divert 
the course of the Brenta into various canals, and 
was successful. It was this maneuvre more than 
any other happening that hastened his downfall, 
for having joined forces with the Marquis of Este 
who was at this juncture summoned forward 


THE FALL OF ANSEDISIO 


201 


from Rovigo, we marched up the dry river-bed, 
and one morning when the astonished Podesta 
awoke we had seized upon the suburbs of the town. 

Contest upon contest now ensued. Religious 
fanatics of every holy order who had attached 
themselves to our army went among the soldiers 
arousing them to the point of frenzy. If Anse- 
disio ordered a sortie, however brave his men, how- 
ever fiercely they struggled, they were set upon 
and literally hewn in pieces by our exultant and 
mania-inspired troops. At times the din was deaf- 
ening. Every known engine, every invented ap- 
pliance of war, was brought into play by the at- 
tackers and the besieged. 

Frequently I detected the presence of Ansedisio 
himself upon the battlements, and quite as often I 
caught a glimpse of Osimo da Feltre. Once the 
latter recognized me while I was directing some 
operations against one of the gates in a series of 
outer barriers, and seizing a cross-bow from the 
grip of a soldier beside him, sent a bolt at me that 
might have wounded me seriously, if not fatally, 
had not the ever-watchful Berthold dragged me 
suddenly from my exposed position. 

But our army was not to be denied. After a 
furious struggle the tower at the gate of Ponte 
Corbo was demolished. Then it was decided to 
move upon the gate of Ponte Altinate which was 
really the key to the entrance into the city. The 
regiment of exiled Paduans and fighting monks 
who had worked theselves anew into a blood- 


202 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


thirsty madness, volunteered to lead the attack. 
Procuring an enormous battering ram, and devis- 
ing a wooden pent-house as a shelter from the 
missiles showered down from above, they advanced 
amid a pandemonium of cries. 

There was not a breath of air that day. The 
rays of the hot spring sun descended pitilessly, and 
from the walls upon the roof of the pent-house was 
poured a stream of ignited pitch and oil. Like a 
cauldron the contracted space seethed. Awful 
shrieks arose from those caught in the smoking, 
blazing mass, while from the battlements mounted 
shouts and cheers of triumph. But these glorifica- 
tions were short lived, for soon the wooden portion 
of the gates took fire. Perceiving this, the monks 
and the volunteers returned to the onset, feeding 
the flames with whatever combustibles they could 
lay hold upon ! Vainly those above now endeavored 
to use water instead of pitch and oil. Unwittingly 
they had wrought for their own destruction. 
Again the battering ram was brought into play, 
and erelong amid a great spluttering and hissing, 
and amid a blinding belching of flames and smoke, 
the gates fell inward, and dimly the streets of the 
city were disclosed. Frantic hands bore rocks, 
mortar and earth to quench the flaming wreckage; 
adventurous feet sprang upon it, and despite all 
efforts at resistance the army of the leaguer like a 
vast wave swept into Padua. 

“Ansedisio ! Ansedisio ! Capture the Podesta !” 

It was I who raised the shout, as I swarmed over 


THE FALL OF ANSEDISIO 


203 


the still steaming barrier by the side of Berthold. 
My thought was that if hands could be laid upon 
Ezzelino’s nephew the whereabouts of those dear to 
me could be determined. 

My cry was taken up, and wherever the diverg- 
ing army spread the words were carried. I had 
seen both Ansedisio and Da Feltre not long be- 
fore Porta Ponte Altinate gave way frantically 
exhorting the men upon the walls to renewed exer- 
tions. Then suddenly they disappeared, doubtless 
realizing the futility of further effort. Now where 
were they? Was another stand to be made behind 
barricades at some opportune point, or would the 
entire garrison surrender? A part had already 
capitulated, but there was a very considerable 
body of men still to be accounted for. 

Even the combined forces of the league, exten- 
sive though they were, did not contain a sufficient 
number to engirdle the city completely, and to one 
of the northern as well as to one of the western 
gates for days no heed had been given. If flight 
was the intention of Ansedisio he would perforce 
use one of these exits, probably the latter, since 
from this gate proceeded the most direct road to 
Vincenza and Verona, and in one of these cities 
the Podesta would naturally seek refuge. 

Hastily selecting twenty-five of the most active 
men from twice that number who had followed 
close upon my heels, and placing myself at their 
head, with Berthold, now wholly recovered from 
his lameness, as an aid, I plunged into a series of 


204 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


byways and alleys with the intention of making a 
short cut for the Porta San Giovanni. It was here, 
if at all, that Ansedisio was to be intercepted. Only 
once did we encounter soldiers, and then in num- 
bers inferior to ours, so that they rapidly gave 
way before us. Indeed the fighting spirit of the 
garrison appeared to have evaporated like the dews 
of morning. 

Dashing at length into the Via San Giovanni, I 
beheld the gateway wide, and not a soul visible. 
But when I climbed to the guard-house tower, I 
descried, in the distance, a group of horsemen 
spurring swiftly into the west. 

“Too late ! too late !” I muttered, in sore disap- 
pointment, “ ’tis Ansedisio without doubt !” 

It was he indeed, and could he have foreseen to 
what an agonized death he was riding with all the 
speed of the fleetest steed in Padua, how quickly 
would he have wheeled and thrown himself into the 
arms of his enemies, for they at least would have 
been merciful, and mercy toward one who had 
failed, or opposed or thwarted him, Ezzelino da 
Romano never knew! 


CHAPTER XXII 

THE FATE OF OSIMO THE DWARF 


Disconsolately I descended the steps of the 
guard-house tower, and rejoined in depressed si- 
lence the troopers who had followed me, now 
grouped about the door with Berthold, awaiting 
my commands. 

“He has escaped,” I remarked dispiritedly, ad- 
dressing my good friend and servitor. “It were 
useless to follow.” 

“And Da Feltre?” queried the Suabian. 

“Is doubtless with him. I could detect as many 
as half a dozen riders in the swirling dust-cloud.” 

Before Berthold had time to question or com- 
ment further there was the sound of swift hoof- 
beats in the Via San Agostino which, not far from 
the Porta San Giovanni, debouches into the via of 
that name. 

“Close the gates ! close the gates !” I cried, and 
while several soldiers leaped to execute my order, 
madly around the corner urged half a score of 
horsemen. From the confident manner in which 
they rode it was evident that they had anticipated 
finding no bar to their flight. Those in advance 
checked their animals, but one more daring than 
the others in spirit pushed his way to the front 
with a volley of violent imprecations. The man 
Da Feltre. In a breathing space his glance 

205 


was 


20 6 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 

took in the situation. His countenance blazed with 
ferocious hatred. 

“We can cut them down, and win from the city, 
if you will strike stoutly!” he shouted to the men 
behind him. “Will you hazard it?” 

“Aye!” they answered him, as in one voice. 
“Lead on! We are with you !” 

It was a last desperate chance, and they realized 
it. 

“Charge, then!” shrieked De Feltre, and with 
that they made at us. 

We outnumbered them two to one, but they were 
mounted, well mounted, and it was by no means an 
unequal combat. From the first it was a cut and 
slash, a hack and hew, business. Above the clash 
of meeting weapons and the oaths of the com- 
batants would occasionally rise the shrill scream of 
a wounded horse. This way and that in the con- 
tracted space surged the fierce contest. Vainly 
Da Feltre endeavored to reach me. Berthold was 
ever watchful, and beat off his most furious on- 
slaughts. Indeed it was the prowess of the Suabian 
that presently gave us the advantage. Two, and 
then three, of the mounted bravos were dragged 
from their saddles by him and dispatched, but not 
Da Feltre. If Berthold was our mainstay, the 
dwarf was certainly the animating force of the 
Paduan men-at-arms. 

At length the superiority of our members began 
to tell. Only four men were now aiding Da Feltre, 
and that subtle warrior perceived that capture was 


THE FATE OF OSIMO 207 

imminent. In truth it was at his seizure that I 
was especially aiming. 

Suddenly, just as Berthold made a futile grasp 
at his bridle and I pressed him upon his exposed 
side, — he was partially screened by one of his 
comrades, — he roared out orders to give over the 
struggle, roweled his steed madly, and plunged 
frantically toward the Via San Agostino, while his 
comrades scattered in other directions. There 
was a riderless horse near by, a well-mettled animal, 
from which one of the Paduans had been unseated. 
Gripping the creature by the mane, I vaulted into 
the saddle, caught the dragging bridle-rein, and 
urged hotly upon the heels of Da Feltre, shouting 
over my shoulder to my followers to hasten after. 

Although the dwarf had a flying start, I felt 
confident of overtaking him erelong, for I descried 
that his mount was wounded in the flank, while 
mine was uninjured. Only two frenzied men would 
have dared the wanton pace at which we flew over 
the uneven pavements. In Da Feltre’s heart 
burned the determination not to be taken, cost 
what it might ; in mine flamed the equally strong 
resolve to capture the arch villain, for I believed 
that from his lips I could learn what I yearned 
to know, and force him to speak I would if once I 
had him within my power. In such a case as his I 
should have small scruple in regard to method. I 
could readily forgive myself for employing one of 
those persuasive instruments known to exist so plen- 
tifully in Ezzelino’s dungeons. 


208 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


When we first entered the Via San Agostino 
there was not a footfarer in view. The houses ap- 
peared to be shuttered tight, and the doors barred. 
As we thundered through the street, however, a 
great uproar being raised by my troopers hurrying 
on in the rear, I was conscious of the cautious 
opening of casements, and of the scrutiny of 
amazed eyes. It was a portion of the city into 
which the riot of conflict now for the first time 
penetrated. 

Step by step I realized that I was gaining, and 
with what a sense of exultation I gripped my 
sword, and shook my rein free! Then from the 
Via Saracinesca, which we were approaching, 
emerged a mounted band, the Papal Legate at their 
head. A shout of triumph rose to my lips, but the 
dwarf checked his steed in time, and swerved into 
the passage leading to the Piazza Del Castello, a 
desperate move, but the only course left for him 
to follow, save surrender. In altering the direc- 
tion of his flight he had permitted me to gain still 
further upon him, and now the head of my horse 
was at the flank of his. Another stride and an- 
other, and I leaned forward to deliver a blow with 
the flat of my blade that should stun my enemy. 
As though he divined my purpose, he reined 
quickly toward the wall, by a violent jerk pulled 
his horse back upon its haunches, and slipped from 
the saddle. I shot forward, and before I could re- 
cover myself, and follow his example, he had 
sprung across the narrow thoroughfare, flung 


THE FATE OF OSIMO 


209 


himself against a door which yielded to the pres- 
sure of his body, and then closed, as though by 
some magic agency, behind him. 

Ominous, massive, and tall loomed the structure 
which had so suddenly and mysteriously swallowed 
the nimble Da Feltre, the town hold of one of Ez- 
zelino’s most ardent supporters, the House of the 
Ridotti. It was practically a castle, and, properly 
defended, might stand a considerable siege. But 
was it likely that so wily a man as the dwarf would 
long immure himself in a refuge where, although 
present safety was sure, ultimate capture was 
quite as certain? Nay, not he! 

So when I had dismounted, instead of tarrying 
and endeavoring to effect an entrance at the main 
portal of the palace which the Legate and those 
accompanying him were already drawing near, I 
darted into an alley which gave access to the rear 
of the huge structure. Here I was quite confident 
I should speedily see the dwarf make his appear- 
ance. I chose for my point of vantage a dark 
and deep doorway less than half a score of paces 
from the tall gate in the high blank wall that sur- 
rounded the narrow yard or enclosure flanking the 
Palazzo dei Ridotti. In the middle of the gate was 
a small wicket upon which I kept my eyes fixedly 
riveted. 

I had not long to wait. My attentive ears de- 
tected a slight click, the wicket swung slowly in- 
ward, and in the dim space the face of the dwarf 
was framed, — the countenance of an incarnate 


210 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


devil. Whatever swarthy attractiveness I had once 
been forced to admit it possessed had vanished. In 
the features were now visible all the wicked passions 
which worked in the soul of the man. I caught 
the Satanic gleam of his eyes as they swept this 
way and that, and finally rested upon the spot 
where I was crouching. 

Could the dwarf discern me? I doubted it, yet 
so long did he gaze, and with such intentness, that 
at length I began to believe he detected something 
that aroused his suspicions. Then what Alfrieda 
said in regard to his powers of seeing in the dark 
flashed upon me. Yet only a small portion of my 
person was in the line of his angle of vision, none 
at all of the upper part of my body, for that was 
protected from view by two large loosened and pro- 
jecting stones through the mortarless crevice be- 
tween which I was peering. 

He continued to regard my corner of conceal- 
ment, however, until with a swift snap he shut the 
wicket. Something told me that he suspected dan- 
ger in the alley. What would now be his plan, I 
wondered. Was there still another means of 
egress? I was inclined to fancy not, yet this was 
but a blind guess. Dusk was threatening, so I de- 
termined at once to test the defences of those who 
were occupying the Palazzo dei Ridotti. By whom 
the place was held, and in what number, I hoped 
soon to discover. 

Slipping from the doorway that had sheltered 
me, I dashed to the corner of the alley by which I 


THE FATE OF OSIMO 


211 


had gained the rear of the palace, and began call- 
ing upon Berthold and also upon certain others 
of my troop who had been in attendance upon me. 
I assumed that by this time they would have traced 
me as far as the House of the Ridotti, nor was I 
mistaken. Scarcely had I shouted twice ere the 
countenance of the worthy Suabian dawned upon 
my view. I beckoned to him vehemently. He did 
not wait for me to address him, but cried out as he 
drew near: 

“There are those in the street without who de- 
clared that you had followed the rascally dwarf 
within, Messer Tiso, and some of the men, under 
my direction, are now battering down the door.” 

“Good !” said I. “Do you urge them on. I be- 
lieve we have him cornered at last. But there is 
a door here also to be broken in, and I need half 
a dozen sturdy fellows to aid me. What are you 
using for a battering ram?” 

“We found some scantling in the Piazza del 
Castello. I will dispatch a couple of the men for 
a second piece.” 

“Precisely the thing, but it should be rather 
short, for the space here, as you see, is contracted.” 

Berthold left me to my vigil, but I was solitary 
only for a brief time. Soon six stout troopers 
came charging up the alley bearing the improvised 
ram. The beam was poised, and after half a 
dozen telling blows had been delivered the tall gate 
pitched inward. The inclosure thus revealed was 
wholly bare. Confronting us were the heavily 


212 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


barred narrow windows of the lower floor of the 
palace, and a door which I saw would for a long 
period defy our every effort to rive it from its 
fastenings. Of defenders there was no sign. 

Thud! — Thud! — Faintly from the street on 
which the House of the Ridotti faced came the 
sound of battering blows, and now we added our 
contribution to the noise, driving with all our force 
the heavy scantling against the barrier that con- 
fronted us. It was during the second interval of 
rest from this exertion that my attention was at- 
tracted by the falling of what appeared to be a 
small bit of mortar from somewhere above. The 
object struck the crest of the area wall, and 
dropped upon the farther side. I raised my eyes 
carelessly. Aloft some forty feet a projection 
that resembled a flying buttress protruded from 
the palace wall, and all but touched the roof of a 
mean structure beyond the alley. It was a frag- 
ment of the Roman building which had been incor- 
porated in the palace at the time of its construc- 
tion, probably a portion of an arch. Its crest had 
the appearance of being top-heavy, bearing a wide, 
but partially crumbled, entablature. 

As I looked another detached scrap descended, 
and then, with a suppressed ejaculation of amaze- 
ment, I discerned the foot and lower leg of a man 
suddenly thrust into view. The owner of foot and 
limb had worked himself along the precarious path- 
way, the remains of the arch being accessible from 
one of the upper windows of the palace, and was 


THE FATE OF OSIMO 


213 


now drawing himself up preparatory to making a 
spring for the adjacent roof now almost within 
reach. 

I felt that the man was Da Feltre before his 
head and shoulders became visible, and was filled 
with such a rage that he appeared to be escaping 
me that I gave an impotent cry, and looked vainly 
about for some object to hurl at him, something 
that would cause him to miss his foothold as he 
poised to leap. 

Da Feltre indeed it was. As he raised himself 
he heard my exclamation, knew himself discovered, 
and made a brief, scornful gesture of defiance. 
His chief attention, however, was devoted to his 
venture, a venture which, if successful, gave him an 
excellent opportunity of eluding all pursuit, for 
the roof upon which he would land offered easy 
access to half a score or more others, from any one 
of which he might descend long before his pursuers 
could get upon his track. 

For an instant he stood erect, a sinister figure 
against the reddening western sky, his inferior 
height, his long arms, his tense pose, lending a gro- 
tesque effect to the picture. He retreated a single 
pace, then bounded forward, but before he pro- 
jected himself into the air the extremity of the 
hanging segment of the ancient arch crumbled be- 
neath him, and instead of landing as he had in- 
tended, his body was hurled against the wall just 
below the roof he had aimed to reach. I saw his 
hands go out in a blind attempt to clutch the cop- 


214 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


in g, then he fell — fell backward amid a mass of 
debris. 

We found him in the alley, mangled but still 
breathing. Presently he moaned, and slowly lifted 
his fluttering lids. As his glance caught mine, 
there was a gleam of recognition, and his expres- 
sion grew malevolent. 

“Mother of God!” he cried feebly, and I real- 
ized that the words were costing him a mighty 
effort, “to die in this wretched fashion! I was 
on the verge of escape, too, for you never would 
have taken me had I gained yonder roof, curse you ! 
I meant one day later to kill you, my fine Messer 
Tiso Camposanpiero, after the great and good 
Ezzelino had tired of the sweet Madonna Alfrieda, 
and turned her over to me.” 

His smile was diabolical, and while I recognized 
in his words only the most bitter hatred, — a desire 
to wound me to the quick by vile insinuations, — I 
found sufficient grace within my heart to say to 
him, — 

“Can you not let your last deed on earth be a 
kindly one, Messer da FeltreP Why should you go 
on man’s long dark journey with evil upon your 
lips? Even after all that has passed, if you will 
tell me where I may find Madonna Alfrieda, I will 
freely forgive you.” 

By a last spasmodic jerk he raised his head. A 
baleful light shone in his eyes for an instant, 
flickered, and went out. 


THE FATE OF OSIMO 215 

“You will never find her,” he contrived to whis- 
per, “you will never ” 

And so perished a fit disciple of the master 
whom he served. 


CHAPTER XXIII 
THE PRISONS GAPE 

I bivouaced with the men of my command that 
night in the Piazza of the Signori, leaving the oc- 
cupants of the Palazzo dei Ridotti who had at- 
tempted to befriend Da Feltre, to whatever fate 
chance might bring them. The city was wholly in 
the grip of the leaguer, but with another dawn a 
new problem confronted the leaders, — insubordina- 
tion among the troops. 

Certain portions of the allied army had been re- 
cruited from the scum of the population, — from 
the street-brawlers of Bologna, from the rabble of 
Ferrara, from the water-rascals of Venice. These 
men had enlisted purely from the hope of rich 
loot in whatever territories or towns might be cap- 
tured, and now that Padua was undisputedly in 
our possession, large bands of them set forth upon 
a round of indiscriminate pillage. For a time it 
seemed as though the innocent Paduans were 
likely to fare worse at the hands of their deliverers 
than at those of the tyrant who had oppressed 
them so long and grievously. At length, however, 
although not until after several severe and san- 
guinary encounters, disorder was quelled, and by 
the noon of the second day following that which 
marked the fall of the gate of Ponte Altinate, 
peace reigned in every street of the captured city. 

I was returning to the Piazza of the Signori, 

216 


THE PRISONS GAPE 


217 


after having made to the Legate a report of my 
share in the reduction of the revolt, when I was 
aware of one of my men hastening toward me. 

“There is a Franciscan monk yonder most 
anxious to see your lordship,” he exclaimed, as he 
approached. 

Could it be Fra Salimbene? That was hardly 
possible. It was a mesenger from him perhaps. 
Daily of late I had looked for some word of those 
who, even in the heat of the conflict, had rarely 
been absent from my mind, some word that would 
buoy my courage, yet none had come. But now — 

I hurried forward expectantly, and soon descried 
a friar in conversation with Berthold. A glance 
informed me that it was not Fra Salimbene. 

My Suabian friend spied me drawing near, and 
pointed me out. 

“Welcome, father!” I cried, extending my hand 
to the noble-faced man who turned to greet me. 
“Something tells me that you bear news.” 

“Aye, Messer Camposanpiero,” answered the 
friar heartily, “and my brother Salimbene bade 
me inform you ere you broke the seal that it is, 
in the main, good news.” 

He therewith handed me a parchment. 

“In thanking you, father,” I said reverently, “I 
am thanking God first of all.” 

“It is just that you should, Messere, for his 
many mercies!” 

“Be cheered, my good friend,” the letter ran, 
“she lives, and is reported to be well, but whether 


218 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


she is detained in palace or in prison my informant 
could not ascertain. — Salimbene.” 

“And I am free to seek her !” I exclaimed exult- 
antly, glancing up and meeting the gaze of my 
friend’s messenger. “Heaven grant, father, that 
I may one day bring to another as great a boon of 
happiness as you have this day brought to me !” 

“May your wish be realized, Messere !” 

“Is there any possible way in which I can serve 
you? If there is, I beg that you will command 
me !” 

“There is none, and let me not delay you, for I 
surmise what you desire to do. I am now for the 
House of the Franciscans.” 

We clasped hands again, and he departed. 
Hardly had he disappeared in the mouth of a 
winding thoroughfare when Di Luggio rode up. 

“It is the wish of the Legate and the Marquis 
Azzo that you superintend the opening of the 
prisons, Camposanpiero,” he announced, without 
dismounting. “It seems to them fitting that this 
matter should be entrusted to your hands rather 
than to those of any other. Where j ailers and keys 
are lacking you will understand that you are to 
use force.” 

He saluted, wheeled, and rode away. 

The prisons ! The power of search ! The privi- 
lege of freeing the prisoners ! — the very thing I 
had most longed for under my supervision ! It was 
in one of the prisons I should find my beloved ones, 
for had I not already visited, in my efforts to aid 


THE PRISONS GAPE 


219 


in subduing our insubordinate soldiery, the two 
palaces in one of which Alfrieda would have been 
confined had she been detained within palace walls, 
— the Palazzo Deslemaini and the home of Ezze- 
lino! The former had evidently not been occu- 
pied since the fall of the family, the latter had 
been rifled by the insurgent army rabble. 

The Zelie first, then! — that gloomy and threat- 
ening pile which took its name from the talented 
and ill-starred architect who designed it, the poor 
wretch who, falling under Ezzelino’s displeasure, 
was the earliest victim to perish within its dun- 
geons. Here it was that Fra Salimbene had learned 
my mother was incarcerated at the time of our 
leaving Padua. 

A terse command to Berthold, and with my 
zealous aid and a squad of troopers at my back, I 
started at quick step through the streets. 

An underling of the tyrant’s who had been chief 
in authority at the Zelie had barricaded the outer 
prison doors, and intrenched himself behind them, 
under the impression that the tide would turn, and 
Ezzelino’s partisans regain the advantage which 
they had lost. He realized better than the Vicar’s 
nephew what might be the full range of his pa- 
tron’s rage against an incompetent and unfaithful 
servant. 

The man at length consented to parley with me, 
however, and it took me but a brief space to con- 
vince him that to yield was the only course. Feel- 
ing that I was armed with discretionary powers, I 


220 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


told him that he could quit Padua, if he choose, 
whereupon the doors of the prison were speedily 
thrown open and the keys delivered into my hands. 

With mingled sensations of exultation and trep- 
idation I issued my commands, assigning to Ber- 
thold and certain trusty others the charge of 
opening the cells, preserving order, and guiding 
the miserable unfortunates to the outer air. 

Would my beloved ones be among those liber- 
ated? I longed myself to be the one who should 
fling back the door that held them in bondage, 
but it was my place, as officer in command, to be 
occupying the position of authority at the prison 
entrance. 

With what eagerness, what anxiety, what yearn- 
ing, I scanned the faces of those who passed me in 
long procession, a most lamentable multitude ! Al- 
though unknown to the majority of the prison- 
ers, many recognized in me the power that had 
wrought their deliverance. By some I was blessed, 
by others I was cursed that I had not come sooner. 
Strong men were moved to tears, and weak women 
to loud cries of exultation. There were those who 
went raving mad on beholding the sky. And then 
the children! — but let me not dwell upon so piti- 
ful, so heart-rending a scene! 

The last of many hundreds had disappeared, 
and the ache within my bosom was not soothed. 
My mother and Alfrieda were not found. All at- 
tempt at keeping a record of those confined, exe- 
cuted, or released had been long since abandoned. 


THE PRISONS GAPE 


221 


I had naught to guide me in my search. Again 
and yet again the experience I had just endured 
was repeated in all its harrowing details, and be- 
fore the entrance to the last of the prisons of 
Padua I stood, a sorrow-smitten man. Had the 
worst, then, befallen? Was the flame of hope which 
I had so fondly tended through all the bygone ar- 
duous and weary weeks to prove no more than a 
delusive marish-fire? 

Alfrieda’s mother had been released and suc- 
cored, and some of my kindred, but not those 
whom I so lovingly sought. 

I gazed into Berthold’s eyes, and read there his 
unspoken sympathy. Even while I looked his ex- 
pression changed. The gleam as of a swift-bom 
inspiration flashed across his countenance. 

“Messer Capitano,” said he, saluting, for we 
were not alone, “there is still the great prison of 
Malta at Cittadella!” 

Hope leaped high again, and became the fair 
pharos which I had so long kept alight. I flung a 
glance at the heavens. There rode the sun more 
than two hours high. 

“We will summon an hundred horsemen,” I ex- 
claimed, “and crave permission for the act after- 
ward. We can make Cittadella, which is known 
to be disaffected, before dusk. If we bear news 
of Padua’s fall, Cittadella will fall too!” 

Berthold entered into the project with keen en- 
thusiasm. Horses were procured, and men speedily 
enlisted, for the soldiers of my command were ripe 


222 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


for any undertaking. Leaving all heavy trap- 
pings behind, we spurred northward through the 
gate of Codalunga. It was an hour for action, 
and not for speech, and there was no exchange of 
words. About us on every side the lush loveliness 
of spring clothed the land. The waters of the 
Brenta reflected the warm glow of the westering 
sun, and the stream seemed like a writhing serpent 
of gold. As far as the eye could sweep over all 
that fertile demesne there was no sign of a human 
being. Tyranny and war had set their cruel grip 
upon the soil-tillers and immured them within the 
walls of cities. 

From the moment of starting not a single glance 
did I cast behind. “Forward ! forward !” this was 
the sound to which my pulses throbbed. “For- 
ward!” this was what the hoofs of the horses said, 
soft upon the turf, harsh upon the flint of the 
path we trod. 

Lower and lower dipped the sun. The pace be- 
gan to tell upon some of the animals. At first 
we had pressed on in a compact body, now we were 
spread out in loose order over the plain. I kept 
constantly in the lead, my steed apparently ani- 
mated with my burning impulse. 

We were, perhaps, within a mile of Cittadella 
when I descried what had the seeming of a dark 
speck in the distance. Presently it grew to be an 
extended, wavering line. The meaning of this line 
flashed upon me. The news of Padua’s fall had 
preceded us. Cittadella had risen, battered down 


THE PRISONS GAPE 


223 


the prison gates and doors, freed the prisoners, 
and they were marching forth. 

My presumption was in all respects correct. 
On they plodded, those most miserable of mortals, 
going they cared not whither so long as they 
turned their backs upon the spot where they had 
endured such unspeakable sufferings. Men and 
women were there, among the noblest in the land, — 
and children, too, pity-moving beyond words, like 
those that emerged from the Zelie. 

I faced about and halted my men, dividing them 
into two ranks equal in number that they might 
thus line the way. 

“Bare your heads,” I cried, “in token of honor 
and sympathy for the unfortunate!” 

Gravely the troopers did as I bade them. 

But the newly liberated, fancying they beheld 
in us fresh persecuters, paused and huddled to- 
gether like so many panic-seized sheep. 

I dismounted, and moved toward them, holding 
up my hand in sign of friendliness. 

“We have ridden,” I called out, “to your aid, — 
not to injure, but to protect you!” 

I, too, had bared my head, and as I approached 
that wretched group about which the beams of 
the sunset threw an aura that was like the glory 
of martyrdom, there rose a cry that was poignant 
in its intensity, a sound that thrilled and filled my 
very soul. And then two women separated them- 
selves from the cowering others, two women who 
the next instant were clasped close to my breast in 
rapture, — my mother and Alfrieda. 


CHAPTER XXIV 
EXIT THE VICAR 


Hand in hand with Alfrieda, radiant and re- 
stored after her dreadful experience in the prison 
of Malta, I walked in the rose-bower of the castle 
of Fonte one morning at the edge of the grape 
harvest, — Alfrieda, now my wife. 

“How fares the mother this morning?” I was 
asking her. 

“She avers that she has her whole strength 
again,” Alfrieda answered, “and certainly her 
vigor is astonishing.” 

“She would not be with us, she declares, were it 
not for you, my love. Was it not strange that 
fate should have cast you together in prison?” 

“It was something more than fate, my Tiso!” 

“I believe it was indeed. It was the providence 
of God!” 

Borne to Padua by Osimo da Feltre at Ezzelino’s 
command, Alfrieda had thence been hastened to the 
Cittadella prison. Whether the bloody Vicar had 
changed his mind in regard to espousing her was 
never revealed. About the same time my mother, 
for some unknown cause, was transferred from the 
Zelie to the terrible Malta, and an unwitting gaoler 
had confined the two in one cell. The feeling of 
admiration that each had entertained for the other, 
despite their slight acquaintance, now ripened 

224 


EXIT THE VICAR 


225 


speedily into love when Alfrieda’s secret was told, 
the close affection of mother and daughter. 
Alfrieda’s ministrations had been the means of pre- 
serving my mother’s life not only during the agon- 
izing days of their common incarceration, but also 
afterward when the reaction from the frightful 
experiences which she had undergone had for 
months prostrated her. 

With the pacification of Paduan territory I had 
quitted the ranks of war, devoting myself to re- 
storing to health and happiness the two who made 
the world for me. In the lands of the Brescians 
and Cremonese the ruthless Ezzelino still raged, 
and I foresaw that the day would come when I 
should again bear arms against him. Even as I 
walked with Alfrieda in the pleasaunce of roses, 
and basked in the fair sunlight of her smiles, it 
had already dawned, though I guessed it not. 

“Ahem! Ahem!” sounded a gruff voice some- 
where behind a rosebush. 

It was Berthold. 

“Come forth, Messer Capitano!” cried I (he was 
now captain of all the men-at-arms who wore the 
crest of the Camposanpieresi). “Be not timid! 
There is no dark danger stalking hereabouts.” 

“Of that fact I am aware, Lordship,” bowed he, 
with exaggerated courtesy, as he appeared sud- 
denly, his rugged face beaming. “I have here, 
however, a missive for you just brought by a 
horseman whose steed reeks with haste. He awaits 
an answer,” and Berthold gave me the writing. 


226 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


I opened it, and read thus: — 

“In Camp beside the Adda. To my esteemed 
friend, Tiso di Camposanpiero : Greeting — If you 
would be in at the death of the were-wolf who has, 
I believe, been driven to his last lair, take horse 
and ride swiftly with him who bears this missive. 
You will be warmly welcomed by 

Buosa da Doara.” 

It was the identical Buosa da Doara whom I had 
impersonated that memorable night in Ezzelino’s 
palace. Encountering him after Padua’s fall, 
when the Vicar had played double with him and 
the Marquis Pelavicini, I had made clear to him 
the causes for my conduct on the occasion of my 
treating him with such scant courtesy, had craved 
and received his pardon, had entertained him and 
his suite at Fonte, and won his esteem and regard. 
He was now fulfilling a promise made when I last 
had speech with him, — a promise that he would 
inform me when, in his estimation, the hour arrived 
for compassing Ezzelino’s downfall. 

“I have other more pressing duties now,” I had 
said to him, “but when the crucial time appears to 
be drawing near, inform me, and, if I may, I will 
fight with you.” 

I handed Da Doara’s message to Alfrieda. 

“I think it is the end,” I said. 

Here eyes rapidly scanned the page. 

“Gird on your sword, my husband!” she ex- 
claimed, straightening herself to her full height, 
“and use it not for the sake of revenge, but for 
the cause of humanity!” 


EXIT THE VICAR 




“It shall be even as you say, my love,” I an- 
swered, and she and my mother were in the court- 
yard to bid me God-speed when, with Berthold and 
a dozen hardy retainers, led by Da Doara’s mes- 
senger, I rode forth a little later from the very 
gate through which Ezzelino had stormed with his 
treacherous following that memorable autumn day 
so many years before. 

By sunlight and by starlight we fared unflag- 
gingly, pausing only to bait or change our steeds, 
until in the golden haze of a humid dawn we 
reached the camp by a ford of the drought- 
shrunken Adda. Here Da Doara and his allies 
were awaiting the next move on the part of the 
hemmed and harried Vicar. Baiting him upon one 
side were the Cremonese; pressing him upon an- 
other were the Mantuans; crowding him upon a 
third were the forces of Milan under the brilliant 
Martino della Torre ; while about him like a cloud, 
ready to envelop him at any moment, hung the 
light cavalry of Ferrara. 

But the indomitable one was undismayed. In 
days long gone an astrologer had warned him 
against “Assano.” Of this danger, too, his mother 
had prophesied. For this reason he had for years 
avoided the primal seat of his power, — Bassano. 
And now he was suffering from a wound received 
at the Cassano bridge. This would have daunted 
many men, but it did not move him. He was like 
a resting tiger watching for a favorable moment 
to make another spring. 


228 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


Through the haze finally burst the sun, red and 
ominous. I was conversing with Da Doara, stand- 
ing in front of his tent, when word was brought 
in that Ezzelino had crossed the Adda at a spot 
considerably above where the camp of the leaders 
was pitched. Instantly it was to horse again. I 
was given a place near the friend who had sum- 
moned me, while Berthold and my retainers were 
assigned to one of his mounted companies. From 
the north resounded fierce shouts and the clash of 
steel, telling that the battle was already on. 

It was toward Bergamo that the daring and 
desperate Lord of Romano was endeavoring to 
hew his way. Troops were hastily sent forward 
to strengthen those who were receiving the brunt 
of the attack, and then the girdle about the weak- 
ened army of the tyrant was gradually tightened. 
Erelong it became apparent that there was abso- 
lutely no avenue of escape for the beleaguered 
Vicar. 

We spurred up behind a strong detachment of 
Cremona pikemen who seemed to be giving way 
before the onset of the opposing cavalry. 

“Hold your ground, men!” shouted Da Doara. 
“Support is at hand !” 

“There is no need of aid, Lordship,” replied an 
officer. “We are yielding only that these Bres- 
cians may have a chance to quit the field. They 
are abandoning Ezzelino.” 

The officer’s statement proved to be fully true, 
and presently, through an opening in the lines, 


EXIT THE VICAR 


the entire mounted contingent of Brescians gal- 
loped homeward. Upon the Vicar’s remaining 
troops the combined forces now fell with furious 
energy. Despite his injuries, the unyielding Ez- 
zelino performed prodigious feats of valor. Here, 
there, everywhere, he cut, slashed, and hacked in 
his mad efforts to open a way to freedom. But the 
press about him grew constantly denser. Into 
this welter of horsemen and footmen with those 
about me I at length clove a path. To the very 
last the raging tyrant fought, bleeding from trunk 
and limb. After his sword had been smitten from 
his grasp he would have been rent in pieces by the 
infuriated soldiery had not Da Doara and I liter- 
ally torn him from them, and borne him from the 
field to Pelavicini’s tent. 

Later, when the leeches had finished their minis- 
trations, I went in with Da Doara and looked upon 
him, but not a word did he vouchsafe to either one 
of us, only gazed at us with malign, inscrutable 
eyes, and this was the attitude which he adopted 
toward all. 

Swathed in bandages, for he had at least a 
dozen wounds, he was borne to Soncino, and there, 
in the great hall of the municipality, this fallen 
tyrant, he who had made a mock of the misfor- 
tunes and agonies of others, became himself a pub- 
lic spetcacle, a thing at which the basest scullion 
might sneer unscathed. 

Food he refused, the consolation of the church 
he spurned, and, regarding him on the morning of 


230 THE VICAR OF THE MARCHES 


the day which was his last on earth, crouching 
against the pillar to which he was chained in the 
center of his place of confinement, despite all the 
injury which he had wrought to me and mine, I 
could find in my heart little feeling save that of 
pity. 

On the eleventh day after the battle of the 
Adda, in a sudden frenzy he contrived to tear the 
bandages from his wounds, and so expired. And 
though they buried his body in the church of San 
Francisco at Soncino amid the odor of incense, the 
chanting of requiems, and the genuflections of 
holy men, I can but believe that his soul went to its 
own place which could be none other than the 
blackness of some outer void far, far from the 
shining courts of God. 

From that dire and tragic experience, with 
what relief, what gratitude, what joy, I turned 
my face toward a scene of contentment and peace, 
toward a garden where, amid the roses, love 
awaited me, — toward Fonte which was to be hence- 
forward, while life should last, my heart’s home! 


THREE BOOKS OF VERSE 

By CLINTON SCOLLARD 


VOICES AND VISIONS 
12mo., $1.00 net; by mail, $1.08 

THE LYRIC BOUGH 
IZmo., $1.00 net; by mail, $1.08 

HILLS OF SONG 

12mo„ $1.00 net; by mail, $1.08 


SHERMAN, FRENCH £sf COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS BOSTON 



























DEC 12 1910 


One copy del. to Cat. Div. 


LIBRARY OF CONGR 



0D025T7T5fi 


